In his hand, he clutched the thick, cream-colored envelope containing twenty-three thousand dollars—my entire life savings, scraped together from double shifts at the hospital and freelance editing gigs at 2:00 A.M. It was the money meant for the hospital bills, the crib, the safety net for the tiny life kicking against my ribs.

And he had just handed it to his mother.

“That’s for our baby’s birth,” I choked out, my voice thin and reedy in the heavy afternoon heat. “Calvin, please. That is for the hospital.”

He turned to me, his face twisting into a mask of pure contempt. “How dare you?” he screamed, spit flying from his lips. “How dare you stop me from helping my mother? Family takes care of family, Elena. You wouldn’t understand that.”