Within three months the house was foreclosed.

Tate and Sela, unable to afford their rental without my deposit, were evicted into a cramped apartment across town.

The triplets were born healthy — a real blessing — but three infants and crippling debt in a tiny space shattered the perfect facade, and Sela filed for separation six months later.

My parents moved into subsidized senior housing; my father took a part-time job as a hardware-store greeter despite his back, and my mother went back to a register.

I knew all this not because I asked, but because a small town talks.

I never blocked their physical mail.