“And you said…?”
I laugh hoarsely. “That I’d rather be mediocre than miserable.”
She grins. “That’s my brother.” Then, softer: “Where’s that kid now?”
“He’s tired,” I admit. “And scared.”
“Well, tell him he’s not alone. You’ve got me. And you’ve got a choice to make.”
I glance at her. “A choice?”
“Love or your image,” she says. “You can’t have both when your image means letting Dad write the script. But I can promise you this: love’s the one that won’t rot you from the inside.”
Her words hit hard. I stare into my tea, now cold, and think of Magnus—his crooked grin, the way he’d tug on my sleeve when he wanted me closer, the softness in his eyes when he thought I wasn’t looking.
My chest aches.
“I don’t even know if he’d want to hear from me,” I say.
“Then find out,” Molly replies simply. “And if Dad gives you trouble, I’ll handle him.”
I blink. “Molly, you can’t?—”
“Watch me.”
There’s a flash of the old Molly then, fierce, brilliant, the one who used to march into the principal’s office when teachers treated me unfairly. I almost laugh, but it turns into another choked sound instead.
She takes my hand. “You’ve spent your whole life trying to make Dad proud. Has he ever been?”
I shake my head.
“Then maybe it’s time to make yourself proud instead.”
The words hang in the air between us.
I don’t know how long we sit there after that. Long enough for the tea to go cold, for Butter to snuggle closer, for my breathing to finally even out.
When I finally stand, it’s with a kind of heaviness that feels almost clean, a grief mixed with something like resolve.
Molly walks me to the door. “Call me if he tries anything,” she says. “Or if you need me to knock some sense into you again.”
I manage a small, real smile this time. “Thanks, Mol.”
She hugs me tight. “You’re my brother. That’s what I’m here for.”
Outside, the evening air is sharp and damp. I take a long breath, tilting my head toward the cloudy sky. Somewhere out there, Magnus is probably still angry. Still hurting. Maybe thinking I meant what I said.
I want to tell him I didn’t. That I was scared and stupid and just trying to keep him safe. That every word I said cut me in half.
But for the first time, I also know I can’t keep living for my father’s version of me.
I start walking, hands deep in my pockets, the sound of Molly’s door closing softly behind me. Butter barks once from inside, a faint echo that follows me down the sidewalk.
Maybe it’s nothing. Or maybe it’s the universe telling me to go fix what I broke.
Either way, I’m done pretending I don’t know what I want.
16
