She stepped closer.
“You were gone. You weren’t here. You don’t know what it was like.”
I looked at Lucy.
“My wife had cancer.”
Nobody spoke.
“She was losing weight.”
Silence.
“She lost her hair.”
Silence.
“She was sleeping outside.”
My voice became colder.
“And you’re telling me I don’t know what it was like?”
My mother looked uncomfortable.
But Brianna still looked angry.
“She always played the victim.”
I turned toward her.
“My wife?”
“Yes.”
Brianna rolled her eyes.
“She was always weak. Always sick. Always needing something.”
I stared at her.
Then I smiled.
Not because I was happy.
Because suddenly everything made sense.
“You know what’s interesting?”
Nobody answered.
“I spent four years believing you were taking care of my wife.”
I walked toward the table where my suitcase sat.
“But while I was away, I learned something.”
I opened it.
Inside was a folder.
