At nineteen, Becca was the family supernova—bright, chaotic, and consuming all the oxygen in the room. There was a ten-year chasm between her and Adam, which cast him more as a third parent than a brother. He adored her, perhaps too much. He had quietly amassed a college fund of nearly fifty thousand dollars, a safety net he managed personally to ensure she graduated without the crushing debt that burdened our generation.

Becca was a freshman at the local university, living on campus but treating our home as her auxiliary supply closet. She had a key for emergencies. I never imagined “emergency” would be interpreted as a Halloween fashion crisis.