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Of course.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For proving my point.”

“Belinda—”

“No, Mother. Really. Thank you.”

“Stop being dramatic.”

A bitter laugh escapes me.

“Dramatic? You just blamed me because Melida went after my boyfriends.”

“Went after is an awfully inflammatory way of putting it.”

“What would you call it?”

“They were young men, Belinda. They made their own choices.”

“And so did she.”

Silence. I nod even though she can’t see me.

“Right.”

“Belinda, I’m not going to rehash ancient history because you’ve suddenly decided to be resentful.”

“Ancient history?” I ask, disbelief in my voice.

“Your sister was young.”

“So was I.”

That shuts her up. Only for a second.

“You have always been too sensitive about these things.”

And there it is.

The Ramos family solution to every wound they ever gave me.

It didn’t hurt. I was too sensitive.

They didn’t take something from me. I should have shared.

Melida wasn’t favored. She simply showed more promise.

I wasn’t overlooked. There simply wasn’t much to see.

My fingers begin to tingle.

“You gave her everything because she had magic, and then you named her your heir. Not me, even though I was the eldest.”

“She earned⁠—”