Manageable.
Grateful for crumbs.
And Dan?
He wanted me erased.
Probably just wanted my inheritance.
Just like her.
I stand there in the doorway, my hand still gripping Thatcher’s sleeve, my heart pounding so hard it hurts.
The room smells like tea and sugar and betrayal.
My mother looks up, startled. “Willow?—”
Dan’s mouth curls into that familiar, infuriating smile.
The one that always saysyou’ll come back.
The one that assumes I am still weak.
Something cold and steady settles into my bones.
I feel Thatcher at my back.
He is warm, safe.Mine.
And I’m not weak anymore.
I’m done explaining.
Done excusing.
Done shrinking myself to fit into other people’s comfort.
This is the moment.
And I’m not walking away from it.
“What is all this?” I whisper.
My voice is thin, but I don’t move.
I don’t retreat.
I plant my feet right there in the doorway like if I don’t, I’ll disappear.
My mother looks up slowly, irritated, like I’ve interrupted her tea instead of walked into an ambush.
“Well,” she says coolly, eyes flicking over me in a way that used to make me shrink, “it took you long enough.”
Then her gaze slides past me.
Locks on Thatcher.
Her mouth tightens. Curls. Like she’s just tasted something bitter.
