"My dad dropped out of school at fifteen to put every single one of you through college. Even after you got married, he kept helping however he could, terrified you might struggle."
"Now he's lying in a hospital bed, and we didn't even ask you for money. We sold our car. Our house. Everything—to pay for his treatment."
"All we want is the money he lent you. We're not even asking for interest. Why is that so hard?"
Every word landed like a hammer. Uncle Charles, Aunt Anna, and Grandma's faces cycled through pale, then red.
Uncle Charles jabbed a finger at me. "Y-you—you—" He sputtered, unable to form a sentence.
Aunt Anna shot to her feet, probably realizing he had no comeback.
"What's that supposed to mean? That money's ours. We don't need your family's permission to spend it!"
"If we choose to help, that's generosity. If we don't, you have no right to guilt-trip us!"
"Your dad lent us that money willingly. Nobody forced him!"
The dinner ended exactly how you'd expect.
When Mom and I rushed back to the hospital, Dad was still awake. He lay in his bed, watching us with hope written all over his face.
I didn't sugarcoat anything. I told him everything—every word Uncle Charles and the others had said, repeated exactly.
Dad didn't respond. He just lay there, silent.
After a long moment, I heard it. Soft, broken sobs, coming from the bed.
I sighed and stepped out of the room.
I didn't know how to comfort him.
These were his siblings. The brother and sister he'd grown up with, protected, sacrificed for over decades.
No matter how brutal the truth was to accept, I couldn't carry even a fraction of that weight for him.
I didn't go back in all night. I dozed on a hallway bench until dawn started creeping through the windows.
Then I got up and headed home to make breakfast for Mom and Dad.
Walking out of the apartment building, I spotted the lottery shop by the entrance. Something pulled me inside.
When I was little, Dad once told me something I never forgot.
"Never be afraid of hitting rock bottom."
"Because once you're there, the only way left is up."
I'd never bought a lottery ticket in my life. I had the clerk print me a random Quick Pick for the Double Chromosphere.
I tucked it away, grabbed the insulated food container, and hurried back to the hospital.
In the room, I found Joseph Walsh—Mom's older brother.
He had his arms around Mom while she cried, murmuring comfort, a bank card clutched tight in his hand.
"It's okay. I'm here. Take this and use it first."
My eyes burned.
Uncle Joseph caught sight of me in the doorway and waved me over.
"Carrie, there you are. Your mom told me everything. Don't worry—we'll figure this out together."
"As for your dad's relatives..." He paused. "I already talked to Rachel Walsh. Give her a call."
Rachel. Of course—she was a lawyer.
For debt collection, she was exactly who we needed.
I handed Mom the food container and stepped out to make the call.
Rachel moved fast. The very next morning, my phone exploded with messages in the family group chat.
Over a dozen notifications. My hand practically went numb from the vibrations.
"Caroline Gilbert! Are you fucking crazy? We borrowed a little money and you're seriously suing us?"
"We're family! What do you gain from dragging us to court? Does your dad know about this? Does he know his own daughter is being this disrespectful to her elders?"
