Marcus arrived an hour later, shell-shocked, as I handed him the financial documents. The golden illusion of our family was dead, and Marcus was finally forced to attend the funeral.

He put our mother in his car and drove away.

For months, the silence was profound. We learned through the grapevine that Robert’s practice was seized, and he and Vanessa moved out of state to live with his parents.

Margaret was forced to sell the family home at a severe loss to cover the liens, and moved into a small subsidized apartment on the edge of town.

It wasn’t until May that a letter arrived — not a text or a voicemail, but a handwritten letter, addressed only to Emily.

Emily left it on the kitchen counter for three days. When she finally opened it, we read it together under the warm glow of the pendant lights.