Chapter 8 - The Meeting
James refused to let me go alone.
Technically, he respected my decision.
Practically, he parked across the street where he could see the entire coffee shop.
Lauren sat in the back booth wearing the same clothes from Christmas dinner.
She looked exhausted.
There was no wine.
No sarcasm.
No smug expression.
For the first time in years, she simply looked lost.
I sat across from her.
“You broke into my house.”
“I used a key.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“I know.”
“You went through Emma’s room.”
Her eyes dropped.
“I know.”
I slid Michael’s final letter across the table.
“What is that?”
“Something Mom should have given you years ago.”
Lauren stared at the envelope.
She didn’t touch it.
“You think one letter fixes this?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because you called me.”
Her jaw tightened.
“I wanted to know if you finally understood.”
“I understand that our parents lied.”
She looked surprised.
“I understand you lost a pregnancy and nobody told me.”
Her face hardened immediately.
“Don’t.”
“I’m not using it against you.”
“You don’t get to talk about my baby.”
“And you didn’t get to put your hand on mine.”
She flinched.
Good.
I needed those words to reach her.
“What happened to you was awful,” I continued.
“But what you did to Emma was your choice.”
Lauren’s eyes filled.
For one second, I saw my sister.
Then the wall returned.
“I barely touched her.”
I stood.
“That sentence is why we’re not ready to talk.”
“Sit down.”
“No.”
“Please.”
The word stopped me.
Lauren finally opened Michael’s letter.
She read silently.
Her expression changed halfway through.
By the final lines, tears were dropping onto the paper.
“He wrote this?”
“Yes.”
“Mom kept it?”
“Yes.”
Lauren laughed bitterly.
“Of course she did.”
“She was wrong.”
Lauren looked up.
“But the letter also says something you need to hear.”
“I read it.”
“No.”
I pointed toward the page.
“You read words.”
“You haven’t accepted them.”
She glared at me.
“What exactly am I supposed to accept?”
“That Michael knew he failed you.”
Her face twisted.
“And Mom still lied.”
“Yes.”
Lauren seemed almost disappointed that I agreed.
Then she whispered, “I hated you for being the child she didn’t have to steal.”
The sentence hit me hard.
I sat again.
“She didn’t steal you.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You do now.”
Lauren looked through the window.
Then she said, “There’s something else you don’t know.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
She finally met my eyes.
“The night I hit Emma, I wasn’t angry because she was crying.”
She paused.
May you like
“I was angry because of something Dad said before you arrived.”
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