“Kobe was the child who’d just lost his birthday.”

“He has you.”

“Sailor has Gage.”

“That’s different.”

There it was again — the belief that had shaped our family for decades. Gage’s struggles always deserved protection. Mine were expected to disappear, because I could “handle them.”

I opened the financial records. “Eighteen thousand dollars for Sailor’s academy.” Gage stared at the statement. “Sixty-six hundred a year toward her tuition.”