Christmas Eve was supposed to be about family, but by the time everyone sat around my parents’ dining table, it felt more like a trial. Bridget had spent the evening explaining why her boutique needed another loan and why I should sign the notice of default she had quietly slipped toward me. My mother kept defending her, while my father stared at his plate. I said nothing at first. I had learned that arguing with Bridget only gave her more chances to twist the truth. Then my mother looked at me and asked why I was being so difficult when “family should help family.” I reached into my coat and pulled out a folded check. Bridget laughed when she saw it. “What, another payment from your little farm?” she said. I placed the check on the table beside the default notice. “No,” I said. “This is something different.” My mother’s face suddenly went pale.
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