“You’re not like him,” she whispered. “You’re better.”
I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. My throat tightened as I walked out of the room, past the nurse who nodded gently, past Harper waiting in the hallway with red-rimmed eyes. I didn’t stop. I didn’t need her permission anymore.
The dinner invitation came a week later. Harper orchestrated it—a carefully worded message that felt more like a plea wrapped in hope: If you want closure, maybe you should let them try.
Closure. As if it were a form I needed to sign off on. As if their guilt could be exchanged for reconciliation.
The car pulled up outside the old house just after dusk. The porch light flickered, and I could see silhouettes moving in the kitchen—Eleanor at the stove, Richard pouring wine, Harper setting the table. For a moment, the scene almost looked warm.
But memories returned, sharp and uninvited.
The last dinner I had sat at this table was years ago. Harper had just gotten her acceptance letter to college. Everyone raised their glasses. No one noticed the envelope with my enlistment papers still sealed in my lap.
I stepped inside. The smell of roast and herbs tried to play nostalgia, but my chest stayed still.
Harper met me at the door with a smile too hesitant to be sincere. “We’re glad you came,” she said, and I nodded.
Eleanor was at the stove, thinner now, paler since the hospital. Richard gave me a stiff, awkward nod.
We sat.
The meat was well cooked. The wine was expensive.
Conversation tried to start. Harper talked about her firm’s latest case. Richard about politics. Eleanor barely touched her food.
“I saw your speech,” Richard said after a while. “The one at the defense summit.”
I took a sip of water. “Did you?”
He nodded. “Impressive. Articulate. A lot of people are proud of you, Chloe.”
“Are they?” I said. “Interesting.”
Silence followed.
Harper pushed her mashed potatoes around with her fork. Eleanor’s hands trembled faintly as she refilled her glass.
“I think it’s brave,” Harper said suddenly, “that you’re not angry. That you came tonight.”
I looked at her. “I didn’t come because I’m not angry.”
That startled her. She opened her mouth and closed it again.
Richard cleared his throat and raised his glass. “To family. And to forgiveness. Thank you for coming home.”
I didn’t raise my glass. I placed it down gently.
“I’m not here to forgive.”
His face fell.
