“I don’t want to be a burden,” Megan whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “But the doctors said the humidity by the lake is ruining my joints.”

My father finally raised his head, his face lined with deep creases of exhaustion.

“We have to help her, Sarah,” he said. “You have your health. You can always rent another place or take on more overtime.”

I looked at my father, seeing the genuine pain in his eyes.

He had spent his life savings on Megan’s specialist consultations, believing every word.

“I worked eighty hours a week last winter to finish the payments on this place,” I said.

“And we are proud of you,” my mother said, her tone softening just enough to sound manipulative. “But family comes first. Sign the papers.”

Instead of reaching for the pen beside the folder, I walked to the television stand.

I picked up the black remote control.

“I want to show you something first,” I said.

“We don’t have time for games, Sarah,” my mother said, her voice rising.

I pressed the power button, and the fifty-inch screen flared into a bright white light.

With my left hand, I pulled out my phone and tapped the screen to mirror the display onto the television.

The first photograph appeared.

It was a high-resolution shot of Megan standing at the summit of a rocky trail in the Cuyahoga Valley.

She was wearing hiking boots and a bright orange windbreaker, holding a walking stick high in the air with a wide, healthy grin.

The digital date stamp in the lower corner read three weeks ago.

It was the exact weekend she had claimed she was bedridden at a clinic in Toledo.

Megan’s breath hitched in her throat, her hand freezing on her water glass.

“What is that?” my father asked, squinting his eyes at the screen.