“Maybe.”
She reached for David’s hand.
“But it’ll be my regret.”
Nobody spoke.
Margaret sat down.
Richard stared into his scotch.
Dad looked at me.
His face was flushed.
“You did this.”
I almost smiled.
“No.”
I glanced at Clare.
“She did.”
“You poisoned her against me.”
“I haven’t spoken to her in fifteen years.”
That fact struck the room harder than anything else.
He had no answer.
I stepped closer.
Not threatening.
Not angry.
Just close enough that he had to look at me.
“You had fifteen years to tell her the truth.”
His mouth tightened.
“You had forty-three chances.”
His eyes flickered.
“You opened some of them, didn’t you?”
Clare froze.
Dad looked away.
That was answer enough.
I felt something inside me finally release.
Not forgiveness.
Not even anger.
The need for him to become someone else.
I had carried that need longer than any deployment bag.
