“The bank representative said late fees kick in after the fifth.”

I sat completely still on the edge of the hotel bed.

The picture of the dog wasn’t an olive branch.

It wasn’t an apology for letting Brent throw me out of the house I’d paid for over five years.

It was a hook meant to reel my money back over the threshold before Friday morning.

My mother didn’t want me in the house.

She wanted the three thousand dollars to clear so Brent could keep playing his video games in the basement without the power getting cut.