I sent my parents $550 every Friday so they could “live comfortably.” On my daughter’s birthday, they didn’t even show up, and then my father said, “We don’t count your family the same.” I opened my banking app, cut off their lifeline, and typed a message that would hit harder than any birthday song. Every Friday at exactly nine in the morning, $550 left my checking account.

“I’ve been paying their hotel and dinners when they visit me because Dad told me Sarah couldn’t afford to help them anymore.”

I stared at the screen.

Marcus slowly exhaled.

“So they were taking money from you and lying to him too.”

I nodded.

That was when my phone rang.

Dad.

I let it ring.

Then Mom.

I let that ring too.

Then Danny.

I answered.

“Sarah?”

His voice sounded different.

Not angry.

Confused.

“I didn’t know.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want a war.”

He was silent.

Then he asked,

“Did Lily really wait for them all afternoon?”

I looked

toward the hallway.

“Yeah.”

He sighed.

“I have a daughter too.”