“Mom showed me the floor plan on her phone,” Ava said, tears spilling over her lower eyelids and running down toward her mouth.

“She told me Claire was hoarding your business profits so we couldn’t buy it.”

I stood perfectly still on my side of the table, keeping my hands resting flat on the smooth surface.

“Is that why you complained about the milk?” I asked Ava.

“Is that why you tripped near the deck stairs on Saturday?”

Ava wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve, her white sneakers shifting against the floorboards.

“Mom said if I made a scene, you’d get tired of arguing and leave,” Ava whispered, looking down at her shoes.