I smiled.
“You don’t.”
She pulled out a chair and sat down.
For a few seconds, she simply looked around the room.
Then she began to cry.
I sat beside her, but I did not immediately ask her to explain. I had learned that not every tear needed to be turned into a conversation.
Eventually, she wiped her cheeks.
“I thought you would believe them,” she admitted.
I felt those words settle heavily inside me.
“Why?”
“Because they always said you would choose Patricia. They said you were happier when I wasn’t around because I reminded you of Mom.”
I shook my head.
“They were wrong.”
“I know that now.”
She looked at me.
“But I was scared to find out.”
I reached for her hand.
“I’m sorry you had to be brave for so long.”
She squeezed my fingers.
“I’m not scared of them anymore.”
I hoped she was right. I knew that fear did not vanish simply because a case ended or a house was repainted.
