The call came during leftovers and spreadsheets: a gentle voice from a fraud department asking me to verify “a few unusual transactions.” I could have said no. Instead, I opened the account page and watched a list of purchases scroll like a travel brochure I hadn’t ordered—premium cabin, island resort, shore excursions, on-board shopping, photo package, room service as if hunger were a hobby. I kept my tone even. “Those weren’t me.” “Did anyone in your household have permission?” she asked. “For

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The framed ribbons in my parents’ hallway always made me grin—my clumsy blue from third-grade spelling, Jess’s green from field day, a collage of “almosts” that never mattered beyond the refrigerator door. Maybe that’s why I missed the signals when Mom suggested the sleepover: waffles, short drive, bright-eyed smiles for the judges. It sounded like kindness. It wasn’t. Dinner conversation was a seesaw with Jessica’s side weighted: Madison’s “comeback,” Madison’s “moment,” Madison’s therapist rec