Chapter 15 - The Ring on the Table
Nobody touched the ring.
It sat under the dining room light like a tiny, expensive period at the end of a sentence.
Brielle stared at it.
“Owen.”
His voice was quiet.
“I can’t marry you.”
She stood too fast.
Mom moved between them instinctively, as if she still thought the danger was what might happen to Brielle rather than what Brielle had already done.
“You’re abandoning me over money?” Brielle asked.
“No.”
“Over a stupid wedding?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“The lying.”
Her face twisted.
“I lied because everybody expects me to fail.”
Owen shook his head.
“I expected you to tell me the truth.”
“You never understand pressure.”
“I understand pressure. I don’t forge people’s signatures because I’m stressed.”
She looked at me.
There it was again.
The search for an enemy.
“You’re enjoying this.”
I felt anger rise, but underneath it was grief.
“I’m not enjoying any of this.”
“You always wanted to be better than me.”
“No. I wanted you to stop taking from people and calling it love.”
The room went still.
Brielle’s eyes filled.
For once, I did not soften my words to protect the person who had hurt me.
“You took my house in your head before I ever said yes. You took my email account because you thought my no was inconvenient. You took Owen’s trust. You took his parents’ money. You took Mom’s credit. Then every time someone objected, you said we were cruel for making you feel consequences.”
She whispered, “You think I’m a monster.”
“No.”
That answer surprised her.
“I think you’re a grown woman who has been rescued from consequences so often that you started believing consequences were abuse.”
My mother began to cry.
This time I understood why.
She was hearing herself in the sentence too.
Brielle picked up the ring.
For a second, I thought she might throw it.
Instead, she closed her fist around it.
“I hate all of you.”
Then she walked upstairs and slammed the bedroom door.
Owen left twenty minutes later.
Mom sat at the dining table staring at the forged bank authorization.
Dad made coffee nobody drank.
I stood to leave.
Mom reached for my wrist.
“Delaney.”
I stopped.
Her voice broke.
“I’m sorry about the sauce.”
Of all the things she could have said, that was what came out.
I looked at her.
“You’re sorry she threw it?”
Mom swallowed.
“No. I’m sorry I watched her throw it and asked you to forgive her before I asked if you were okay.”
That landed harder than any apology I expected.
Then a crash sounded upstairs.
We all looked toward the ceiling.
May you like
A second crash followed.
Dad ran for the stairs.
