For the first time, I felt so big yet so small at the same time.
My fingers were trembling, and I was afraid I might cry if I opened my mouth. I could only wave my hands, hoping they would not misunderstand.
I looked at Charlie, then at Mom, and then Dad. I wanted to tell them I hadn't even touched Ginny.
But they looked at me like they were disappointed. Like I was in trouble. Like they caught me lying.
I watched Mom gently pick Ginny up and whisper, "Oh, sweetie, don't worry. Betty didn't mean to scare you. She'll be careful next time. Right, Betty?"
No one wanted to hear me. It's like they'd already decided I was guilty. How come they believed I could hurt someone? It felt so unfair!
But how could I stand up for myself when all eyes stared at me impatiently, demanding an apology?
Ultimately, I could only look down and take the blame for something they believed I did.
"S-Sorry, Ginny..."
That night, the dinner table was filled with dishes Mom only made on special occasions: braised brisket, baked ziti, salad, garlic bread, and cheesecake with the words "Welcome to the family, Ginny!" elegantly written on top in whipped cream.