The Camera Never Lies

I was staring at the eviction notice taped to our front door when I heard Emily's car pull into the driveway. The bright orange paper seemed to glow in the afternoon sun, screaming our family's shame for the entire neighborhood to see. Three months behind on rent. Seventy-two hours to come up with four thousand dollars or pack our bags. I ripped the notice down and stuffed it into my back pocket just as my older sister stepped onto the porch, her nursing scrubs still clinging to her curves after a twelve-hour shift at Memorial General. At twenty-four, Emily had been carrying our family since Dad's accident six months ago, working double shifts while trying to finish her degree. Her…