Chloe’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She dropped the gold compact mirror onto the table beside her, her hands trembling so badly she couldn’t hold it.

I stepped forward, picked up my mother’s gold compact mirror, and slipped it into my purse.

“Thanks for keeping it clean, Chloe,” I said quietly.

We walked past them.

The Monday meeting did not go well for Charles. Mark’s financial auditors discovered that Charles had been falsifying Vanguard’s production records for 2 years to inflate his own bonuses.

Mark terminated his contract immediately and turned the records over to the state authorities.

Without Charles’s executive salary, their debts collapsed on them. Their bank repossessed their large house in Shaker Heights, and their luxury cars were towed away.

A few weeks later, I ran into my father at a café near the city offices.

He looked older, his hair completely white. He didn’t look angry anymore. He just looked tired.

He told me that Chloe and Charles were living in a weekly motel on the highway. He asked if Mark could find a position for Charles to help them get back on their feet.

“They are family, Rachel,” my father pleaded.

I looked at him. I remembered the market where my mother turned her back on me. I remembered the 8 years of silence.

“You told me Mark was just a welder,” I said. “And you told me I was no longer family.”

I stood up, paid for my coffee, and left.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about Chloe. That afternoon, I asked Mark to drive me to the motel.

When we pulled into the gravel lot, the rain was coming down. The motel was run-down, with peeling paint and a flickering neon sign.

Chloe was standing outside by a vending machine, trying to get a can of soda. She wore a cheap, thin coat, and her hair was damp.

When she saw our car, she froze. She recognized the sedan.