The refrigerator was empty. My wife’s hands were trembling. And upstairs, my daughter was livestreaming her new designer bag, bought with the money meant for food. “Dad won’t do anything,” Mia whispered to her boyfriend.

I found her painting in the garden beneath a white umbrella, pale blue flowers blooming across the canvas.

I carried her tea outside.

“You’re hovering again,” she teased softly.

“I’m admiring.”

She smiled.

Months later, a letter arrived from Mia.

Elena held it for a long time.

Then she dropped it into the fireplace without opening it.

I looked at her quietly.continue reading …