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.

“Yesterday morning,” she admitted quietly. “I had half a banana.”

Rage hit me so hard I had to grip the table to steady myself.

Then heels clicked down the staircase.

Mia appeared wearing silk pajamas, holding her phone high as comments poured across the screen. Behind her stood Brent, shirtless, arrogant, and wearing my watch.

My watch.

Mia stopped cold when she saw me.

“Oh,” she said. “You’re home early.”

Brent slowly lowered his drink.

Mia recovered quickly. “You should’ve texted first.”

I stared directly at her. “Why is your mother starving?”

She rolled her eyes instantly. “Oh my God, she’s exaggerating. She refuses delivery food because she thinks it costs too much.”

Elena flinched.