For him.
For the man who had shown up.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Chloe glanced toward her mother.
Elena stood near the edge of the room.
Alone.
Julian was several feet away now.
She was crying.
Chloe didn’t feel victorious.
That surprised her.
For years, she imagined that if Elena ever had to face what she had done, it would feel satisfying.
It didn’t.
It felt sad.
Because underneath every lie was the same simple truth.
Their mother had missed fifteen years that she could never get back.
No argument could change that.
No explanation could make the childhood photographs include her.
No accusation could place her in the empty seats at school concerts.
And no speech at a wedding could erase the man who had been there instead.
Later that night, Elena approached Chloe privately.
“I shouldn’t have said those things.”
Chloe looked at her.
