arrived.

Claire, sweetheart! We just saw the wonderful news! We’re so proud of you. Please call us!

I stared at the screen.

Sweetheart.

The same mother who hadn’t attended her grandchildren’s funeral was suddenly calling me sweetheart again.

Another message followed.

Your father and I would love to get together. Family is so important.

Then Melissa wrote:

OMG, Claire! Eighteen million dollars? That’s incredible! We seriously need to catch up!

I almost laughed.

Six months of silence.

And now they apparently couldn’t wait to see me.

Aunt Ruth called that afternoon.

“Have they contacted you?”

“Every single one of them.”

She sighed.

“Be careful, Claire. People who disappear when you’re suffering sometimes reappear when they think you have something worth taking.”

That evening, someone knocked on my front door.

I looked through the window.

My parents and Melissa stood on the porch.

My sister held an enormous bouquet of white

roses.

The same flowers I’d chosen for Ethan’s funeral.

Dad noticed me behind the curtain and smiled.

“Claire! It’s your family!”

I opened the door.

He stepped forward to embrace me.

I moved backward.

His smile faltered.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

Mom looked offended.

“We came to see our daughter.”

“After six months?”

Dad cleared his throat.

“Families should stick together.”

I stepped aside.

“Then perhaps you can explain why mine wasn’t there when I buried three people.”

Nobody answered.

And I knew their sudden visit had very little to do with love.

My parents entered the living room as though nothing unusual had happened.

Melissa placed the white roses on the table.

Dad glanced at the photographs of Ethan and the children.

For a moment, I thought he’d finally mention them.

Instead, he said, “You’ve certainly been through a difficult time.”

I stared at him.

“Yes. I

have.”

Mom quickly interrupted.

“We’ve all been worried about you.”

“Really? Because nobody called.”

“We wanted to give you space.”

“You gave me six months of silence.”

She looked uncomfortable.

I continued.

“You didn’t visit the hospital. You missed the funeral. Then you complained because I hadn’t called Melissa on her birthday.”

Dad sighed.

“Claire, we aren’t here to argue about the past.”

I almost smiled.