“Maeve, I know you want to leave us. You’ve made that quite clear. You should do the right thing before then.”
Bile burned her throat, and Maeve couldn’t keep the vitriol bubbling inside her down. “Because I’m always wrong, isn’t that so, sister? I never do therightthing.”
Sorcha opened her mouth to argue, but Maeve kept going, unable to stop. “I want to leave. I want to live away from the family. I don’t like horses. I selfishly put myself first rather than sacrifice everything I am to this family.”
“This isn’t about that,” said Sorcha through tight lips.
“Isn’t it? It’s always about how I’m not you, perfect, selfless Sorcha, ready to do anything for the family. So much better than selfish Maeve, who dreams of leaving, who lets herself have fun.”
“I didn’t say any of that!”
“You don’t have to! It’s perfectly clear that’s how you feel. How this whole family feels. I’m nothing like noble Sorcha, so I must bebad.”
“Maeve, you’re being ridiculous,” said their mother, her arms crossed over her chest.
“No, I’m not! It’s always been like this, I’ve always been compared to Sorcha.”
“You’ve always been different,” Aoife sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“No? Then why are we even here?” Spreading her arms wide, Maeve gestured at the three of them, all gathered specially to pass judgement over her.
“We’re worried about what this could—”
“You’re worried about Soren,” she interrupted Sorcha. “Soren. Not me. You haven’t even asked how I might feel. Youassume I must be playing with him—youalwaysassume the worst of me.”
A frown darkened Sorcha’s face, the first truly angry expression she’d seen her sister wear in years. “With good reason! You’ve given me little reason to think otherwise about you. You’re selfish, you’remean.”
The accusation ricocheted in her chest, waves of stinging pain that stole Maeve’s breath. Oh, that did hurt, because there was truth to it. But she didn’t dare show it, didn’t dare appear weak. She had a point to make, and she didn’t care about the consequences, not anymore.
“Am I truly mean, Sorcha, or is it that I say things you don’t wish to hear?”
Sorcha inhaled sharply, but the words caught in her throat.
Nodding, Maeve drove her fingers into her sternum, emphasizing her point. “Telling the truth isn’t wrong, and lying isn’t a kindness.”
“I don’t lie!” Sorcha yelped, obviously offended.
“Don’t you? You say things are fine when they’re not. You say you’re happy even when you’re not. You’d let everyone else decideyourlife if it makesthemhappy. You do everything for everyone else andresentthat I don’t do the same. But I’m not like you, Sorcha, and I don’t have to be bad for you to be good.”
Sorcha’s eyes rounded; apparently, she’d truly shocked her sister. Good.
“Maybe Iammean,” said Maeve, fighting the sting of tears. “Maybe it’s because I’m hard, that I’vehad tobe hard.”
“What are you talking about?” Aoife whispered.
“You’re all here right now because you think I’m wrong and need to be confronted, yes? That I’m mean and hard. Perhaps I’m that way because you’ve always picked at me. Perhaps I had to grow tough enough to take it.”
“We don’t pick on you,” Aoife denied.
“No? Then why am I the one being confronted just a few months into knowing Soren, while Connor’s beensleeping outside in the dirtfor over a year?”
The accusation fell like a stone to the bottom of a well between them.
“Your brother needs time,” said Aoife, a troubled expression knitting her brows.
“You’ve given him plenty of time. He’s only getting worse—everyone sees it. You do him no favors coddling him.”
“Just because we haven’t been sharp like you doesn’t mean we aren’t doing anything,” Sorcha argued.
