When I called my father back from that hospital bed, he answered so fast it sounded less like relief and more like he had been standing over the phone waiting for it to ring.

Grace, thank God, he said.

For one stupid, soft second, some part of me still wanted to believe that was about me.

Then he kept talking.

Olivia’s cards were frozen. My mother had booked half the trip through a travel concierge attached to an account that had flagged for fraud.

The hotel in Paris had put a hold on everything after my sister added upgrades they could not cover.

My father said they were trying to sort it out, but Grandpa had mentioned the envelope and now they needed me to authorize the release of the graduation trust immediately.

Immediately.

Not after I healed.