My mother glanced at me. Normally, she would’ve berated me for it, but tonight, she didn’t say a word.
More silence.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“We were better as a family before we were rich.”
Three forks froze mid-air. Dante was the only one who continued eating, though his eyes were sharp and dark as he watched the other’s reactions.
“We had family dinners every night. We went camping and didn’t care whether our clothes were last season or what type of car we drove. And we would’ve never forced someone into doing something they didn’t want to.” The insinuation hung heavy over the frozen table. “We were happier, and we were better people.”
I kept my eyes on my father.
I was being more confrontational than I’d planned, but it had to be said. I was tired of holding back what I thought simply because it wasunbecomingorinappropriate.We were family. We weresupposedto tell each the truth, no matter how hard it may be to hear.
“Were we?” My father appeared unmoved. “I didn’t hear you complaining when I paid your full college tuition so you could graduate without debt. You weren’t concerned about beinghappierorbetter peoplewhen I bankrolled your shopping sprees and year abroad.”
Viciousness coated his words.
The metal handle of my fork dug into my palm. “I’m not saying I didn’t benefit from the money. But benefiting from and even enjoying something doesn’t mean I can’t criticize it. You’ve changed, Dad.” I deliberately used my old address for him. It sounded distant and strange, like the echoes of a long-forgotten song. “You’ve strayed so far from—”
“Enough!” Cutlery and china rattled in an eerie déjà vu from my father’s office.
Beside me, Dante finally set down his fork, his muscles tensing and coiling like a panther ready to pounce.
“I won’t sit here and have you insult me in front of my own family.” My father glared at me. “It’s bad enough you chosehim”—he didn’t look at Dante, but everyone knew whichhimhe was talking about—“over us. We raised you, fed you, and made sure you wanted for nothing, and you thank us by walking away when the family needs you most. You donotget to sit here and lecture me. I am yourfather.”
That was always his excuse.I am your father.As if that absolved him from any wrongdoing and gave him the right to manipulate me like a chess piece in a game I never consented to.
My mouth tasted like copper. “No, you’re not. You disowned me, remember?”
The silence was loud enough to make my ears ring.
My mother’s lips parted in a silent inhale; my sister’s eyes turned the size of half quarters.
Dante didn’t move an inch, but his warm reassurance touched my side.
“You didn’t treat me like a daughter,” I said. “You treated me like a pawn. Your willingness to cut me off the minute I refused to do your bidding is proof of that. I’ll always be grateful for the opportunities you provided me growing up, but the past doesn’t excuse the present. And the truth is, present you is not someone I would be proud to call a parent.”
I fixed my stare on my father, whose face had turned a lovely shade of crimson.
“Are you at all sorry about what you did?” I asked quietly. “Knowing how it would affect the people around you?”How it would affect us?
I wished,prayedfor a single spark of remorse. Something that told me my old father was still buried under there somewhere.
If he was, I didn’t see him. My father’s eyes remained stony and unyielding. “I did what I had to do for my family.”
Unlike you.
The unspoken words bounced off me, unable to find purchase.
I didn’t bother replying. I’d heard all I needed to hear.
DANTE
I found Francis in the living room after dinner, staring at the fireplace. It was spring, but nights in Helleje were cold enough to warrant extra heat.
“It doesn’t feel good, does it?”