Megan looked at our mother, her eyes wide with panic.

My mother opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

I clicked the last document in the folder, an email thread between Megan and Lauren.

The subject line was *New Car Deposit*.

I didn’t say a word.

I just pointed at the screen.

My father leaned down, his face inches from the glass, reading the text.

His breathing became shallow and fast.

His hand reached out, hovering over the keyboard, but he didn’t touch it.

Outside, a car horn honked on the street below, the sound muffled by the rain.

“You told me she was going to lose her legs,” my father whispered to my mother.

She didn’t answer.

She looked at the floor, her hands clenched into tight fists.

“You told me the doctors said she had six months without the treatment,” he said.

“We had to make sure she was taken care of,” my mother whispered.

“With my pension?” he asked.

“With the money we worked forty years for?”

He looked back at the screen, the dates matching perfectly with the loans he had signed.