“Don’t,” my father said, voice suddenly firmer. “Don’t use my health as a weapon.”
Paige’s eyes widened a fraction. She wasn’t used to hearing her stepfather push back.
Victoria’s lips pressed tight. “Fine,” she snapped. “If we’re not welcome, we’ll leave. But don’t come crying to me when Bonnie isolates you and you realize too late what she’s doing.”
She spun toward the door.
I didn’t stop her.
I let her storm out, dragging Paige behind her, the suitcase wheels clacking over my hardwood floors like punctuation. She paused at the threshold, turning back with one last look—pure promise, pure threat.
“This isn’t over,” she said.
“I know,” I replied calmly. “That’s the point.”
The SUV peeled out of my driveway a minute later, tires spitting sand.
My father sat down hard on the sofa, hands shaking. For a long moment, he didn’t speak.
I waited.
Finally, he looked up at me. “Bonnie,” he said hoarsely, “why would she do that? Why would she lie?”
I kept my voice gentle, because beneath my anger, I could see the grief: not just for my mother, but for the fifteen years he was realizing he’d lost to manipulation.
“I don’t know yet,” I said. “But I’m going to find out.”