Not me.
« I’m happy to be here, » I said.
And I truly meant it.
During that first month at the agency, I barely thought about my family.
Not because I have forgiven.
Because I was busy building.
I learned how to present my work to clients.
How to receive feedback without withdrawing into oneself.
How to set the price for freelance projects.
How can you say « That’s not part of the topic » without apologizing?
Each time I said it, something inside me healed a little.
Then, one afternoon, my father showed up at my internship office.
I caught a glimpse of him through the glass doors.
Mark Whitmore, hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped.
He looked older.
Not because he had aged.
Because he was no longer protected by his image.
My heart skipped a beat.
Tasha looked at me.
« Do you know him? » she asked.
« Yes, » I said softly.
I went out.
The city air smelled of exhaust fumes and spring.
My father looked at me, his eyes tired.
« Emily, » he said.
« What are you doing here? » I asked.
He swallowed.
« I… I just wanted to talk, » he said.
I didn’t move.
« About what? » I asked.
He lowered his eyes, then raised them again.
« Pretty much everything, » he said.
I stared at him.
He looked completely lost.
Non-manipulative.
Non-performative.
Simply… I fell in love.
« I cannot speak here, » I said.
He nodded quickly.
« I know, » he said. « I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go… »
His voice faded away.
Because he knew it.
He simply didn’t like the answer.
The answer was that he had nowhere to go.
« Meet me at the restaurant on Madison Street, » I said.
He blinked.
« Tonight? » he asked.
« Yes, » I said. « Seven. »
He nodded his head as if someone had thrown him a rope.
« Thank you, » he murmured.
Then he turned around and walked away, his shoulders hunched.
When I got home, my hands were shaking.
Tasha was looking at me.
« Are you okay? » she asked.
I swallowed.
« I will be, » I said.
At seven years old, I was sitting in a booth in the restaurant, my hands clasped around a cup of coffee.
My father arrived five minutes late.
He slid into the seat opposite me, his eyes darting around as if he expected someone to judge him.
In the suburbs, he had always been somebody.
Here in the city center, he was just a man in a worn jacket.
He cleared his throat.
« Your mother didn’t come, » he said.
« I didn’t invite her, » I replied.
He nodded.
A waitress served him a coffee.
He stared at the cup with a perplexed expression, as if he didn’t know what to do with it.
Finally, he looked up.
« I’m sorry, » he said.
The words echoed heavily in his mouth.
Not practiced.
Not smooth.
It’s just… awkward.
I observed it.
« Why? » I asked.
He expired.
« For letting this happen, » he said.
That wasn’t the whole truth.
But it was closer.
« I should have stopped him, » he added. « That night. I should have stopped your mother. I should have… I should have chosen you. »
My throat tightened.
I didn’t speak.
I let him remain seated in that silence.
Because it is in silence that truth can grow or die.
My father rubbed his forehead.
« We’re in an apartment now, » he said softly. « Two bedrooms. Small. »
I nodded.
He swallowed.
“Jake… is not doing well,” he admitted.
I didn’t react.
My father’s eyes looked up.
« He holds you responsible, » he said.
I held his gaze.
« He blames me because you taught him how to do it, » I replied.
My father flinched.
« I know, » he said.
There was a long silence.
Then he said something I wasn’t expecting.
« Your mother still talks about you as if you were the bad guy, » he confessed. « As if you stole our house. As if you… as if you did something to us. »
I stared at him.
« And you? » I asked.
He lowered his eyes.
« I don’t know what I believe, » he admitted.
That sentence made my stomach turn.
Not because it was cruel.
Because he was weak.
« I need you to understand something, » I said.
He looked up.
« I didn’t force you to open accounts in my name, » I said. « I didn’t force you to let Jake take my money. I didn’t force Mom to applaud when he pushed me. Those were choices. »
My father’s eyes were shining.
« I know, » he murmured.
« Really? » I asked.
He swallowed.
« I’m trying, » he said.
I leaned back.
« I’m not here to punish you, » I said. « I’m here to protect myself. »
He nodded.
« I know, » he repeated.
Her voice broke.
« I didn’t realize how much we… depended on you, » he admitted.
I stared at him.
« That’s the problem, » I said. « You depended on me, but you didn’t respect me. »
My father’s shoulders slumped.
He stared at his coffee.
« I don’t know how to fix it, » he said.
I’ve exhaled.
« You can’t change that, » I replied. « You can only change what you do next. »
He looked up.
« What do you want me to do? » he asked.
I’ve thought about it.
That’s when my old self would have intervened.
I gave him a list.
I took responsibility.
Everything has been sorted out.
Instead, I spoke slowly.
« I want you to stop trying to drag me back into this mess, » I said. « I want you to stop letting Jake attack me. I want you to stop calling me dramatic when I set boundaries. And I want you to never use my name again, for anything in the world. »
My father nodded quickly.
« I will not do it, » he said.
I observed it.
« Promise? » I asked.
He seemed to want to challenge the very principle of promises.
Then he nodded.
« I promise you, » he said.
I didn’t know if I believed him.
But I knew something else.
Making promises was no longer my role.
The application of the law was.
When we left the restaurant, my father stayed near the door.
« May I… » he began.
I waited.
« Can I give you a hug? » he asked.
My chest tightened.
Not because I wanted to.
Because I didn’t know how.
I shook my head.
« Not yet, » I replied.
His face darkened.
Then he nodded.
« I understand, » he murmured.
And for the first time in my life, I thought he could.
Summer has arrived.
My credit disputes have progressed through the system.
An account has been deleted.
Then another one.
The loan took longer.
Documents, signatures, and evidence were needed.
Detective Moreno called me twice to keep me informed.
My parents were not arrested.
Not immediately.
The process was slow.
But the accounts were flagged.
The lenders started asking questions.
My father stopped calling.
My mother kept sending text messages.
Long messages to tell him how much he missed me.
How she wished we could « start over from scratch ».
How families « forgive ».
She never once said, « I was wrong to applaud. »
She never once said, « I’m sorry I tried to take your savings. »
She never once said, « I’m sorry I used your name. »
She kept repeating, « I’m sorry you’re hurt. »
I quickly realized that the language of apologies could be another form of control.
Jake sent a message.
It was a screenshot.
Advertisement for a luxury apartment.
Below, he wrote:
This is where we could live if you weren’t selfish.
I stared at him.
Zoé leaned over.
« Is he serious? » she asked.
I’ve exhaled.
« It’s Jake, » I said.
I then blocked him.
Not as a punishment.
Like peace.
That autumn, I moved into my own apartment.
A small one-bedroom apartment near the railway line.
The carpet was worn.
The kitchen was the size of a closet.
The windows rattled in the wind.
But it was mine.
Nobody had the keys.
No one had access to it.
No one was able to applaud while I was being expelled.
The first night I slept there, the silence seemed strange to me.
Not alone.
Just… empty.
Like a space once filled with chaos that was now waiting for something better.
I sat on the floor with a tray of cheap takeaway food and ate noodles in the middle of my empty living room.
I looked around me.
So I laughed.
A truly hilarious moment.
Because, for the first time, my life no longer resembled a stage.
It was like a blank canvas.
A month later, I received another notification.
Not a single missed call.
This is not a text.
A letter.
From a law firm.
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