At my daughter’s 6th birthday party, my father video-called from his military base. “Did she like the gift from the $500 I sent?” he asked. I froze. He’d been sending $500 every month for two years. My husband’s face went white as I grabbed his phone and saw $12,000 in casino withdrawals. Then my father’s voice came through, cold as ice: “I’m on the next flight. You better not be there when I arrive.”

The handmade birthday banner, crafted from construction paper and glitter glue, hung slightly crooked over the doorway. It read “Happy 6th Birthday Julie!” in the wobbly letters of a child who had poured her whole heart into the task. I stood back, admiring our handiwork. The apartment was filled with the cheerful chaos of a six-year-old’s birthday party: a dozen squealing children, a mountain of presents wrapped in colorful paper, and the sweet, sugary scent of the homemade cake I’d stayed up until 2 a.m. decorating.