The money sat there in my account like a dare. Five million dollars, clean and silent, no blood on it except the kind you couldn't see. I stared at the number on my screen until it stopped feeling real. There were a lot of things five million could do. It could pay off every bill, every hospital debt, every dream I'd buried under rent and obligation. It could give my parents the retirement they deserved, fix my sister's broken-down car, maybe even buy me the quiet life I used to think was enough. But it also sat there like a collar, gold-plated and heavy. Five million reasons to stay quiet. Five million reasons to keep pretending. Five million ways to sell your soul with interest.
Bianca sat cross-legged on the couch, half-asleep under a blanket, cereal bowl in hand. When I told her,
