Chapter 8 - GRANDMA'S EXPLANATION
My mother arrived at the hospital that evening.
I almost told security not to let her in.
Then I changed my mind.
I wanted to hear what she would say.
She entered carrying Sophie’s favorite stuffed rabbit.
That made me angrier.
She had brought comfort after helping create the need for it.
“Megan.”
I remained seated.
Sophie was sleeping.
Mom placed the rabbit beside her.
“I need to explain.”
“Explain the jacket.”
Her face drained.
“You know?”
“Why did Preston need Sophie wearing it?”
She looked toward the door.
“Please keep your voice down.”
That was my mother.
Even now.
Appearances first.
I stood.
“Why?”
“He told me he wanted to embarrass you.”
“By using my daughter?”
“He said he would put his phone in her pocket, pretend to find it, then immediately reveal it was a joke.”
I stared at her.
“A joke.”
“I told him it was childish.”
“But you helped.”
“I didn’t know he would become violent.”
“You helped him frame an eight-year-old as a thief in front of two hundred people.”
“He promised me it would last less than a minute.”
My hands began shaking.
“And what was supposed to happen during that minute?”
She started crying.
“He said people needed to understand you weren’t perfect.”
There it was.
The ugliest truth of all.
This had never been about Sophie.
It had been about putting me back in my assigned place.
Preston had spent his life being protected from comparison.
I had been the responsible child.
The scholarship student.
The one Dad trusted with numbers.
The one employees called when something needed fixing.
Preston hated it.
When I discovered his financial misconduct, he did what he had always done.
He attacked my credibility.
Only this time he used my child.
“Why would you agree to that?”
Mom wiped her face.
“Because your father was terrified the company would collapse if Preston was exposed.”
“That makes no sense.”
“The banks are already nervous.”
I froze.
“What?”
She immediately realized she had said too much.
“What do you mean the banks are nervous?”
“Megan, please.”
“What has Preston done?”
Mom sat down slowly.
“Your father borrowed money.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“How much?”
“Several million.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Whitman Architectural Supply was successful.
Or at least I had believed it was.
Mom continued.
“Your father personally guaranteed some loans.”
“Why?”
“To expand.”
“For Preston?”
She said nothing.
That was enough.
Preston had convinced Dad to acquire three struggling distributors two years earlier.
I had warned against it.
Preston called me risk-averse.
Dad told me business required courage.
Apparently courage had turned into debt.
And Preston had been stealing from the same company he had already endangered.
Mom reached for my hand.
I stepped back.
“Don’t.”
“Megan.”
“You used my daughter to protect him.”
“I made a terrible mistake.”
“No.”
I looked at Sophie.
“You made a choice.”
May you like
Then I opened the door.
“And now you get to live with it.”
