That night, Claire checked into a roadside motel, the kind with a buzzing neon sign and a faint scent of bleach in the air. She sat on the stiff bed and opened her banking app—mostly out of habit, partly out of a need to anchor herself.
Her family still had access to a joint account she had maintained for years. It was meant for “emergencies,” though she was the only one who ever contributed to it. Her year-end bonus had landed the week before.
Golf club charges. Wine deliveries. Specialty dog food. Patio items. Holiday gifts she’d never seen.
One small sentence from the patio echoed in her mind:
“This year’s only for real family.”
It was enough to make everything suddenly, painfully clear.
A Call From Someone Who Noticed
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