word a thief uses when the vault finally closes. Lauren stayed frozen, staring at the screenshots as if silence might soften them. My mother remained seated, hands folded, posture perfect, wearing the expression of an injured party in a story she had written herself.
“Say something,” Lauren whispered.
“I did,” I said.
She looked at me. “You’re blowing up the whole family over this.”
“No,” I said. “I’m blowing up the arrangement.”
Eric, who had been quiet all evening, finally spoke. “Were these payments really coming from Amelia’s accounts?” He looked at Lauren. “I thought your mom was helping with daycare.”
Lauren’s face shifted—not guilt, exactly, but panic. She hadn’t expected collateral damage. She definitely hadn’t expected her husband to learn the truth here.
“Eric, not now,” she said.
He didn’t look away. “How long?”
She didn’t answer.
That silence did more damage than anything I could have said.
My mother stood and shifted tactics. “Amelia, this is family business. It doesn’t need an audience.”
I almost smiled. “You made it an audience when you turned me into a joke.”
Her mouth tightened. “You’ve always been sensitive.”
“There it is,” I said quietly. “Hurt me, then accuse me of bleeding too loudly.”
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