“You sound like Iris.”

“We don’t have cash coming in.”

“That’s why we need to keep selling.”

“Selling what?”

Priscilla looked toward the stacked boxes by the wall.

Some contained low-quality salon tools she’d imported at a price she could no longer afford.

Others held return merchandise she had promised to refund months earlier.

The apartment had become a warehouse for decisions neither sibling wanted to examine.