Chapter 7 - The Apology That Came Too Late
The guests left in murmuring groups.
Some hugged Daniel. Others avoided looking at us. Emily’s bridesmaids quietly collected their purses and disappeared.
By late afternoon, the church was nearly empty.
Emily sat on the floor with her gown spread around her. The flowers in her bouquet had begun to wilt.
“I hated you sometimes,” she said.
I remained by the window.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.” She wiped her face with the back of her hand. “After the fire, Mom slept at the hospital with you. Dad spoke to reporters about you. People brought gifts for you. Teachers treated me like I was made of glass.”
“You were ten.”
“It didn’t stop when I got older. Every achievement came with your name attached. ‘Emily’s graduating. Isn’t that wonderful after everything Claire did for her?’”
“So you decided I had taken something from you.”
“I felt like I could never repay you.”
“I never asked you to.”
“That made it worse.”
I looked at my sister—the woman who had spent years resenting a debt I never tried to collect.
“You could have loved me.”
Her shoulders shook.
“I did.”
“No. You needed me to forgive you without telling me the truth. You needed my money without asking. You needed me alive, but not visible.”
She lowered her head.
“I’m sorry.”
It was not enough.
But it was the first thing she had said all day without defending herself.
Dad returned with an attorney before sunset.
He announced that all financial discussions would go through counsel and warned me against making accusations publicly.
Margaret calmly informed him that the bank had already frozen the trust accounts.
Dad turned to Mom.
“Come on.”
She did not move.
“Linda.”
Mom looked at me, then at Emily.
“For twenty years, I helped you convince both girls that protecting you was the same as protecting the family.”
Dad’s face hardened. “You enjoyed the life I provided.”
“With Claire’s money.”
He left alone.
Mom tried to touch my hand.
I moved it away.
“I should have protected you,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“I was afraid of losing our home.”
“You nearly lost your daughter.”
Her face crumpled.
I wheeled toward the church exit.
Emily called my name.
I stopped but did not turn around.
“I don’t know how to fix this,” she said.
May you like
“You start by telling the truth when it costs you something.”
Then I left the church wearing the navy dress she had hoped no one would remember.
