The screen glowed bright in the afternoon shadow of the trees, displaying the words she had sent.

I handed the phone to Derek.

Derek’s fingers brushed mine as he took the device, the glass cool against his palm.

He squinted at the screen, his brow furrowing as he read the words.

“What does it say, Derek?” Mother asked, her voice losing a bit of its polished edge.

Derek did not look up at her.

He read the text aloud, his voice flat and deliberate.

“‘Sarah, I will not embarrass this family by asking our friends to fund a science project. If you want to play at being an entrepreneur, do it quietly.'”

The wind rustled the eucalyptus leaves above us, dry and scraping.

Mother tightened her grip on her designer handbag, her knuckles turning white.

“That was tough love,” she said, her chin lifting.

“You were throwing away your doctoral studies for a gamble,” she continued. “I wanted you to have stability.”

“There is more,” I said, pointing at the screen. “Scroll down to the day we signed the lease on our first warehouse.”