By the time I finished, I no longer needed revenge.
I wanted the truth to walk into the room before I did.
I spread months of lies across my dining room table.
I bought a black wooden box that afternoon. One by one, I placed everything inside. Then I stopped.
There was one last item still lying on the table.
I stared at it for a long time.
Hannah had almost apologized before handing it to me. “I hope I’m wrong.”
She wasn’t.
I picked it up carefully, slipped it into a plain white envelope, and tucked it beneath everything else.
I closed the lid. Tied the bow. And smiled for the first time in six months.
“I hope I’m wrong.”
***
Saturday arrived warm and bright.
Brooke’s backyard looked exactly the way she’d planned it for months.
Two long folding tables stretched across the lawn, covered with white tablecloths and tiny pumpkins she’d insisted were “classy.” Thirty-two relatives filled every chair.
I walked in carrying the casserole she’d assigned me. Daniel followed behind with flowers.
“Claire!” Brooke beamed. “You made the potato salad.”
“I never forget my assignments.”
“I knew I could count on you.”
“You always do.”
She smiled, completely missing what I’d meant.
