I turned eighteen on a Tuesday. No cake. No card. Not even a half-hearted “happy birthday.” Just my father sitting at the kitchen table, his wife stirring sugar into her mug, and my stepbrother leaning back in his chair with that look people get when they already know how the story ends.

I shook my head.

“No.”

I pointed toward the documents.

“You were protecting yourself.”

My stepbrother suddenly stood.

“Dad?”

Everyone looked at him.

He swallowed.

“Did you really take Nathan’s money?”

My father didn’t answer.

My stepbrother looked horrified.

“The three thousand dollars?”

My father finally said, “It was family money.”

“No,” I said.

“It was mine.”

Richard placed the bank records on the table.

“Three thousand two hundred fourteen dollars and sixty-three cents.”

My father looked at the statement.

“That money was used for legal fees.”

“Your legal fees,” I said.

My stepmother looked at him.

“You told me it was for Ethan’s college applications.”

My stepbrother’s face went white.

“You lied to me too?”

My father slammed his palm against the table.

“Enough!”

The room went silent.