I turned to look at her directly.
She looked so much like our mother in that exact moment that it genuinely startled me. The same delicate chin. The same glossy eyes ready to overflow precisely on command. The same practiced helplessness wrapped up in a pretty package.
“What part exactly,” I asked, “is not fair? The part where Dad said my money was meant for your loans? Or the part where everyone here just heard him say it?”
Color rushed into her face.
Noah shifted beside me. “Em—”
I touched his arm gently, not to silence him, but to steady him through what was happening.
Dad pointed at the folder of documents in Noah’s hand. “You can undo this.”
A murmur moved through the tent.
Noah’s fingers tightened around the keys.
I tilted my head. “Undo what exactly?”
