“Then the next day, Mom bought Tyler a gaming system.”
“I didn’t know about that.”
“You knew.”
“I didn’t.”
“You were there.”
He sighed.
“I don’t remember.”
“That,” I said, “is the problem.”
Another silence.
Then Brent said something I wasn’t expecting.
“Mom told me you were jealous.”
I almost laughed.
“Jealous of what?”
“She said you were always trying to compete with us.”
I stared at the wall.
All those years.
All those explanations.
My mother had rewritten everything.
If I objected, I was jealous.
If I defended my children, I was dramatic.
If I asked why Emma and Noah were treated differently, I was starting trouble.
If I stayed quiet, everything was peaceful.
Except it wasn’t.
It had never been.
“Brent,” I said, “I don’t want anything from you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want your apology. I don’t want your money. I don’t want Mom’s house.”
