But the real consequence wasn’t losing the money. It was living a life where no one indulged them anymore.

My mother took work cooking meals on commission; Tara pulled long shifts as a salon receptionist, learning for the first time how hard the money was to earn that she’d once thrown away.

Chapter 7 — The Fight to Live

Meanwhile, Della was fighting for her life.

For ten straight days the hospital gave her IV fluids, nutrition, and treatment. I was at her bedside every day, though she still flinched when a nurse touched her arm.

Her wounds ran deep — she’d grown used to asking permission just to eat, to rest, to make a phone call.

One evening she looked up at me with wet eyes. “You’re really not angry that I hid this from you for so long?”