The anger was still there, bubbling under the surface. “You’re sorry? You have a condo.
You have a career. You owe me, Isabella. You put me in there.”
“No, Elina,” I said.
“You put yourself in there.”
“I’m your sister,” she yelled. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”
I glanced at David. He was watching a dog chase a Frisbee across the grass.
He was smiling. He was patient. He was kind.
“It means we share DNA,” I said. “But family is more than blood, Elina. Family is respect.
Family is safety. You were never safe for me.”
“So you’re just going to hang up?” she demanded. “You’re going to let me starve?”
“You won’t starve,” I said.
“You’re smart. You’re resourceful. You’ll figure it out.
But you’ll do it without me.”
“I hate you,” she whispered. “I know,” I said softly. “And I forgive you.”
“What?” Her voice cracked.
“I forgive you,” I repeated. “Not for you. For me.
I forgive you so I don’t have to carry the anger anymore. I forgive you so I can put this phone down and never think about you again.”
“Isabella—” she began. I ended the call.
I didn’t just hang up. I blocked the number. Then I opened my settings and changed my number again.
It took five minutes. I slipped the phone back into my pocket. David turned to me.
“Who was that?” he asked. “Wrong number,” I said. He smiled.
“Ready to go get lunch?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m starving.”
We walked down the path, leaves crunching under our boots. I took a deep breath.
The air was cold and clean. I thought about the dining room table ten years ago. The slap.
The smirks. The silence. I thought about the credit card bills, the guilt, the fear.
It was all gone. I didn’t destroy them. I just stopped saving them.
And in doing so, I finally saved myself. I reached for David’s hand. It was warm.
I walked forward into my own future.
