Snow had begun falling by the time I reached her Cherry Creek neighborhood, covering the lawns and rooftops in a soft white layer that made every house look peaceful and innocent.

Grandma’s two-story brick home stood at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, dark green shutters framing the windows, a Christmas wreath still on the front door.

Two vehicles were already in the driveway. My father’s black Lexus. Aunt Linda’s silver Mercedes. My stomach tightened.

I parked at the curb, tucked the letter inside my coat, and walked to the house. Raised voices were already coming from inside.

“You embarrassed all of us!” my father shouted.

Grandma answered with calm precision. “No, Richard. You embarrassed yourselves.”

I used the key she’d given me years earlier and let myself in without knocking. Everyone turned.

My father stood in the foyer, still in his coat, face red with anger. Aunt Linda stood beside him, arms crossed, lips pursed in the expression she used when a restaurant brought the wrong dressing.

Marcus leaned against the staircase pretending to be absorbed in his phone, though the tension in his shoulders gave him away. Grandma sat by the fireplace in her wingback chair, a plaid blanket across her lap, Rosa standing behind her — silent and protective.

Dad’s eyes dropped to the folder in my hand. “Where have you been?”

“At the bank.”

Marcus looked up. Aunt Linda’s expression changed first — only briefly. Fear disguised as irritation.