Mom flinched but didn’t respond. She stepped back inside without another word, leaving me on the porch.
That silence spoke louder than anything. It told me exactly where she stood. Not with me. Not with the daughter who had spent years overseas eating dust and carrying the Whitmore name into combat zones. She stood with Megan, the daughter who never sacrificed a damn thing.
I walked down the steps, hands shoved deep in my coat pockets. The street was lined with cars, headlights glowing in the dusk. People were leaving, talking about dinner plans, weekend trips, anything but the family drama they had just witnessed. One of my uncles gave me a pitying smile as he passed.
“Sorry, kiddo. Rough day, huh?”
I nodded but didn’t stop. Rough day didn’t even begin to cover it. By the time I reached my car, my jaw ached from clenching it so tight. I slid into the driver’s seat and stared at the steering wheel, my father’s words echoing in my head from years ago.
You’re tougher than you think, Hannah. Never let anyone decide your worth.