Tears blurred my vision as I stuffed the last of my clothes into my suitcase. I hated how vulnerable I felt, how weak my trembling hands betrayed me. After my father’s death, Brian had been my rock, my sky. But now, that sky had crumbled, leaving me in suffocating darkness.
As I struggled to fit everything into the suitcase, Brian stepped forward, grabbing a parcel to help. His movements were calm and deliberate, as if my anger was nothing more than a tantrum.
“We’ll talk once you’ve calmed down,” he said gently.
His patronizing tone was unbearable—like punching a pillow, soft and unyielding. My words felt powerless, my anger impotent.
I paused at the door, turning to face Kate one last time. Her smug smile hadn’t wavered.
“Kate,” I said, my voice icy, “the clothes you’re wearing? Consider them a gift. They’re cheap, just like second-hand goods. I never cared for them and I hope you won’t treat them like treasure.”
I didn’t wait for a response. I left with my dignity barely intact.
***
A Month Later