“I built it with sweat and sleepless nights,” I said. “And you know it.”

“We paid for your tuition at Stanford,” she said.

“You paid for my undergraduate degree because it looked good on your Christmas letter,” I said.

My own voice surprised me with its coldness.

“The moment I decided to go into solar tech instead of corporate law, you cut me off.”

Helen laughed, a short, humorless sound that died instantly in the carpeted room.

“We gave you space to grow up, Sarah.”

“You shut me out,” I said.

I walked closer to the fireplace, feeling the dry heat on my face.

“Do you remember the winter of my junior year?” I asked.

She didn’t blink.

“I had pneumonia,” I said. “I couldn’t pay my rent because my research assistant stipend was late.”

“You were being stubborn,” she said.

“I called you from the clinic,” I said. “And you told me that if I couldn’t manage my own lifestyle, I shouldn’t expect you to subsidize my hobbies.”

My father looked down at his polished leather shoes.