Dad sat across from my desk with Mom and Brooke beside him, smiling as though we were discussing an ordinary family favor. They wanted money to open Brooke’s boutique, and Dad called it a chance for me to “return the support” they had given me over the years. I listened quietly until he finished. Then I picked up my pen and looked directly at him. “Dad, how much was the bus fare in May 2019?” He blinked. “What?” I repeated the question. “The morning of my graduation, when you told me your hands were tied. How much did it cost?” Dad looked at Mom. Mom looked at Brooke. Brooke lowered her phone. None of them answered. I almost smiled because their silence told me everything. They had never wondered what that morning had cost me. “It was two dollars and fifty cents,” I finally said.

I remembered the crumpled dollar in my pocket, the coins hidden beneath the seat, and the dirty bus window beside me. I had been wearing my cap and gown while my family stood across the street photographing Brooke beside her new car. Now they wanted me to finance her future. I placed the blank check on my desk and leaned back. “So let’s talk about the support,” I said. “Name one thing you paid for after I turned eighteen.”