Mom texted, “We can’t make your son’s birthday. Tight month.” I replied, “No worries.” The next evening, I saw photos. Bounce house catering mountains of gifts for my sister’s kids. My son whispered, “They always have money for them.” I didn’t say a word. I just canled this. At 8:47 a.m., my dad was knocking so hard the windows shook.

I opened the door.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dad demanded.

“Good morning, Dad.”

“Don’t you good morning me. Where’s the transfer?”

“It’s gone.”

Mom’s car screeched into the driveway. She rushed up, already crying.

“Elena, sweetheart, what’s happening? Are you in trouble?”

“I saw the photos,” I said.

They both stilled.

“What photos?” Mom asked, but she already knew.

“From Veronica’s party. The one you could afford to attend the day after you couldn’t afford Mason’s.”

Dad’s jaw tightened.

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Veronica is going through a divorce. Those kids need stability.”

“And Mason doesn’t?”

He glanced past me and noticed Mason standing behind my leg.

“Elena, let’s talk privately.”

“No. Mason deserves to hear this. He’s the one you hurt.”