I pointed to the ceiling of my one-bedroom apartment.

The plaster was cracked in the corner, a small defect I had never had the time to fix.

“I sacrificed ten years of my life for this family,” I said.

“And she was lying the entire time.”

Megan began to sob, covering her face with her hands.

The tears looked real, but I had seen her cry on command too many times before.

“You’re ruining my life,” Megan sobbed through her fingers.

“You’ve always been jealous of me because Mom and Dad love me more.”

“Jealous?” I laughed, but the sound was dry and hollow.

“I’ve spent a decade working in crawlspaces filled with asbestos so you could have a fake illness.”

My father reached out and touched the edge of the coffee table.

He looked very old.

The skin under his eyes was dark, and his shoulders slumped forward.

“Is it true, Megan?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“Did you take that money?”

Megan didn’t answer him; she just sobbed louder, leaning her head against our mother’s shoulder.

My mother wrapped her arms around Megan, glaring at me over her head.