“I can do it,” I said, handing him my business portfolio. “And I can do it ten percent faster than your last contractor because I don’t cut corners.”

Henderson looked through my references and smiled.

“Your father says you’re reliable,” Henderson said. “That’s worth a lot to me. The bid is yours if you can start Monday.”

I shook his hand, the rough skin of my palm scraping against his.

It was the largest contract I had ever secured, worth more than three years of my residential work combined.

My father and I walked back to his truck, the smell of lake water and wet dirt fresh in the air.

“Thank you, Dad,” I said.

“You earned it, Clara,” he said. “I just opened the door.”

As my business took off, my mother and Megan faced a very different reality.

Without my father’s financial support and my monthly contributions, they could no longer afford their lifestyle.

They were forced to move out of their comfortable suburban house and into a cramped, run-down duplex near the railyards.