And when Travis notices, he laughs.
“Oh, don’t start with the drama,” Travis says, waving a hand. “They’re tired. Let them rest.”
I turn my head slowly and stare at him.
“Don’t speak for them,” I say.
Travis’s smile slips for half a second.
Then it comes back, sharper.
“You always thought you were better than everybody else,” he says. “You left town acting like you were too good for this place. Now you come back in that fancy suit to judge us.”
My hands clench.
This isn’t about pride. It’s about stolen years.
I take another step, close enough now to smell him: cheap cologne, stale cigarettes, and the scent of a man who spent my money on comfort while my parents slept on the floor.
“You managed their accounts,” I say. “You told me you’d help with the bank. You said you’d make sure they had everything they needed.”
Travis’s eyes flash. “And I did,” he snaps. “I paid bills. Bought groceries. Fixed things.”
I gesture at the cracked walls and the leaking ceiling.
“This?” I say. “This is what you fixed?”
His mouth tightens.
For the first time, he looks angry enough to drop the mask.
I glance down at the little girl.
“Who is she?” I ask, softening my voice so I don’t scare her.
My mother flinches.
My father’s shoulders slump like he’s carrying a weight too heavy to bear anymore.
Travis answers before either of them can.
“She’s mine,” he says quickly. “My daughter. I moved back here to help, and she stays with her grandparents.”
The little girl’s eyes flick to Travis, and I see it instantly: fear, not affection.
A child doesn’t look at her father like that unless home feels like a storm.
I kneel slowly, careful not to startle her. “Hey,” I say gently. “What’s your name?”
She hesitates.
Her mouth opens, then closes again.
My mother whispers, barely audible, “Lucy.”
My chest tightens. “Lucy,” I repeat softly, like I’m making a promise.
Travis steps forward abruptly. “Don’t fill her head with anything,” he warns.
I lift my eyes to him. “Back up,” I say, quiet but dangerous.
The room goes still.
My father coughs, weakly. “Eli,” he whispers. “Please… don’t.”
I rise slowly. “Dad,” I say, my voice tight, “I’m not leaving until I know what happened.”
Travis scoffs. “You’ll know what you need to know.”
I pull out my phone. I’m already recording, but I don’t make a show of it.
“Say it again,” I tell him. “Explain where the money went.”
Travis’s eyes widen. “Turn that off.”
I keep the phone steady. “No.”