Then she turned to Tom.
“And I wanted my father at my wedding.”
That silenced everyone.
For years, Sophie had been angry enough at Tom for both of them. Emma never had.
Or maybe she had felt it too. But underneath all the anger, she was still a little girl who wanted her dad to show up.
“You can hate him,” Emma said quietly to Sophie, “because you stopped needing him.”
She swallowed.
“I didn’t.”
Sophie flinched as though the words had physically struck her.
Then she stepped forward and took her sister’s hand.
“I’m sorry.”
Emma nodded.
“No. Really, Em.” Sophie’s voice was thick. “I thought I was standing up for you. I didn’t even ask you what you wanted.” She looked down at the floor. “I did exactly what everybody else does.”
Emma squeezed her hand hard.
And in that moment, I finally understood what Sophie had really done with that microphone.
For a few thrilling seconds, I had thought she was brave enough to say what Emma couldn’t.
But Emma had never been waiting for someone to speak for her. She’d spent eight years surrounded by people who were absolutely certain they knew what she needed.
