That morning, at last, I documented.

“Monthly transfers to Victoria for her car lease.

Harrison’s golf club dues.

Eleanor’s cosmetic procedures, billed to my secondary card.

Thousands in cash withdrawals Julian logged as ‘household repairs.'” I looked up.

“My income funded this entire family’s lifestyle for five years, while all of you treated me like something you were kind enough to let in the door.” Eleanor spun on her son.

“What is she talking about, Julian?” And I watched, with a strange detachment, the first crack open in the family that had spent five years presenting me its united, contemptuous front.