“Maya… you’re home,” he rasped.
Something inside me cracked.
I turned up the heat, gave him small sips of water, cleaned him, changed his sheets, and immediately contacted his home-hospice team for instructions. While waiting for them to call back, I heated a cup of broth.
“Where is Mom?” I asked softly.
Victor closed his eyes.
“A trip.”
That was when I noticed the note on the kitchen counter.
My mother, Evelyn, my brother Mason, and my sister Chloe had taken the family emergency money and used it to pay for a luxury Caribbean cruise.
The same emergency account into which I transferred a substantial part of my Navy paycheck every month.
I picked up the tablet lying on the coffee table.
An Instagram notification appeared.
Mason was smiling from the top deck of a cruise ship, wearing expensive new sunglasses with one arm wrapped around his girlfriend.
The caption read: “Working hard to play harder. Living the life we deserve.”
