There was a long, heavy silence on the line.

“I know,” my father said quietly.

My breath caught. “You know?”

“I went to her place this morning to help her move some boxes,” he said, his voice cracking. “I saw her. She was walking, Clara. She was carrying a heavy chest of drawers down the stairs herself.”

I couldn’t speak.

“The illness… it was all a lie,” my father whispered, the pain in his voice raw. “She’s been faking it for years. Your mother knew, too.”

“Dad…”

“I’m so sorry, Clara,” he said. “I’ve been blind. I’m helping them pack their things into a cheap studio on Lorain Avenue, and then I’m done. Megan’s going to have to get a job at the dollar store down the street just to pay the rent.”

“What about Mom?”

“She’s staying with her. They’ll have to survive on what they can scratch together.”

My father took a shaky breath.

“But listen to me, Clara. You focus on Arthur’s bakery. I just spoke to the superintendent of the port project. They want to see your bid for the commercial contract. It’s yours if you want it.”