“We do.”
No one sat until I gestured toward the chairs.
That small motion changed something in the room.
For years, I had been summoned into family conversations like a problem to be managed.
Now they were sitting in my office.
On my terms.
My father cleared his throat.
“I read part of the summary,” he said. “General Prescott allowed us to see enough to understand.”
Madison looked down at her hands.
“I asked Jason,” she whispered.
I waited.
Her voice shook.
“He wouldn’t answer me directly.”
That hurt her more than any document could have.
I knew because it had once hurt me the same way.
My mother reached toward Madison, but Madison pulled her hand away.
“No,” Madison said quietly. “Don’t comfort me like I’m the only person who got hurt.”
The room went still.
She looked at me.
“I hated you,” she said.
The words were plain. No decoration. No excuse.
