“The specialized nerve blocks that Mom said weren’t covered by insurance.”

“The ones I helped pay for, Dad.”

Megan shook her head, her blonde curls bouncing.

“That’s a lie, she made that up because she hates me!”

“Lauren got evicted because you didn’t pay your half of the rent, Megan,” I said.

“She sent me the bank statements too.”

I scrolled down to the next image on the screen.

It was a statement from a bank in downtown Cleveland, showing a balance of twenty-four thousand dollars.

The account was under Megan’s name.

The address listed was a post office box three blocks from our parents’ house.

“Twenty-four thousand,” I read aloud.

The room went entirely silent except for the hum of the old refrigerator in the corner.

The smell of the cabbage soup my mother had brought over lingered in the small kitchen.

My father stared at the screen.

His mouth was slightly open, his eyes blinking slowly behind his thick glasses.

“Megan?” he asked.

“What is this?”

“It’s a savings account for emergencies!” Megan cried.

She sat up straight, forgetting to limp or lean back into her cushions.