The color drained from her face. She lunged for it.
Dad raised his arm high and slammed it into the ground. The pen shattered, pieces skittering across the tile.
"Trying to keep evidence?" He ground his heel into the largest fragment. "The old man's dead and still causing trouble!"
Mom sank to her knees and began picking up the plastic shards, one by one.
She didn't cry. But her shoulders shook violently.
Dad stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
I crouched down to help her.
She suddenly seized my wrist—hard.
"It's okay." Her eyes were bright, frighteningly bright. "Mom saw this coming."
She fished a tiny memory card from her pocket.
"The real backup is right here."
She slid it into the hidden compartment of my pencil case.
"Keep it safe for me."
That night, Mom sat on the edge of the bed and hummed.
It was the song Grandpa used to sing to her.
The melody drifted, soft and weightless, through the dark.
The next day, Dad brought a woman home.
She was young. She walked through the living room in Mom's slippers.
Mom was in the kitchen, shelling beans.
The woman sauntered to the kitchen doorway.
"Hey, sis," she said with a smile. "Like the bracelet?"