“This,” he said, “is talent. This is love.”
And suddenly the room erupted in applause.
Real applause. Loud and genuine.
An art teacher shouted, “Young man, you have a gift!”
Another voice added, “That dress is incredible!”
I glanced at the back of the room.
Melissa was still holding her phone—but now she was the one being watched.
Then she made one last mistake.
“Everything in that house belongs to me anyway!” she shouted.
The room fell silent.
The attorney spoke immediately.
“No. It does not.”
That night ended in a blur. People hugged me. Teachers complimented Ethan. Melissa disappeared before the final dance.
When we got home she was waiting in the kitchen.
“You think you won?” she snapped. “You made me look like a monster.”
“You did that yourself,” I said.
She pointed at Ethan. “And you. Little freak with your sewing project.”
Ethan flinched.
But for the first time in a year, he didn’t stay quiet.
“Don’t call me that,” he said.
She laughed. “Or what?”
His voice shook, but he kept talking.
“You mock everything. You mocked Mom. You mocked Dad. You mocked me for sewing. You mocked her for wanting one normal night.”
A loud knock interrupted him.
At the door stood the attorney and Tessa’s mom.