That eventually she had stopped missing me.
I remembered every mailbox I had checked.
Every birthday I had waited.
Every holiday when I told myself this would be the one.
Nothing.
Because she had never received them.
I turned toward my father.
“You took my letters?”
He didn’t answer.
“Dad.”
His jaw tightened.
“You were destabilizing her.”
The words were so absurd that I almost didn’t understand them.
“I was her sister.”
“You had made your choice.”
“She was fifteen.”
“And impressionable.”
Clare’s hand came down hard against the podium.
The microphone popped.
Several guests jumped.
“You told me she stopped writing.”
Dad looked at her.
“I did what was necessary.”
“You told me she didn’t want me anymore.”
“I protected you.”
“From what?”
His eyes flicked toward me.
“From becoming like her.”
The words hung over the room.
Clare stared at him.
Something in her face closed.
