The refrigerator was empty. My wife’s hands were trembling. And upstairs, my daughter was livestreaming her new designer bag, bought with the money meant for food. “Dad won’t do anything,” Mia whispered to her boyfriend.

My daughter’s voice.

“Dad’s overseas again, so this place is basically mine now,” Mia laughed on a livestream. “And Mom barely notices anything anymore.”

My blood froze.

Mia was twenty-four and had moved back home after her startup business failed. Elena had begged me to give her time.

“She’s struggling,” my wife kept saying. “She just needs support.”

But support had slowly turned into entitlement.

I knelt beside Elena. “When did you last eat?”

She avoided my eyes.

“Elena.”