"The kind of something that means you never have to worry about money again," I said, pulling out my phone like it held the answer to every sleepless night, every overdue bill, every time Mom had smiled through exhaustion.
The kitchen fell into absolute silence.
Even the hum of the refrigerator seemed to hold its breath.
Sarah and Emma materialized near us like summoned spirits, their faces shifting from curiosity to wariness. That sixth sense siblings have—the one that tells them when the ground's about to crack under the family—had clearly kicked in.
I turned the screen toward Mom.
MetaTrader. Live account. Seven hundred twenty-nine thousand dollars and some change.
Her coffee mug didn't fall—it hovered. For half a second, gravity itself hesitated. Then the ceramic shattered on the tiles like a tiny thunderclap, brown liquid spraying across the floor. No one even looked at it.
