“Did you come here to ask how I survived, Dad?” I said through the glass, my voice clear and level and dead calm.

“Or did you come because you realized you can’t buy Serena’s wedding present with my children’s blood money?”

His hand froze in the air, inches from the door.

Behind him, my mother came up the porch steps in a fur-trimmed coat, and — I will never forget this detail — she had her phone out, held up in front of her, already recording, as though she expected to catch me doing something she could use.

And behind her stood Serena, her eyes red, her arms crossed hard over her chest.