My father’s mouth tightened. “We didn’t destroy anything—”
“Before you worry about Kristen’s future,” I said, cutting him off, “why didn’t you stop her when she tried to steal tens of thousands of dollars worth of items from my closet?”
His eyes flashed, offended at the accusation rather than the act.
“Because she wanted them,” he said, as if that were explanation enough. “As her sister, it’s only natural for you to give them to her.”
Natural.
The word hit me like a door finally closing.
That single word extinguished the last thin ember of attachment I hadn’t known I was still carrying. Natural. The justification for every sacrifice I’d been forced to make, every boundary I’d been punished for drawing, every success that had been turned into their entitlement.
I leaned forward, close enough that my breath fogged the acrylic slightly.
“Before I turned thirty,” I said, “did you ever once say happy birthday to me? Not in passing. Not as an afterthought. Did you ever ask me what I wanted? Did you ever acknowledge what it took to build my company?”
My father’s eyes flickered, uncertain.