“But you’re taking it.”
“No.”
I paused.
“I’m enforcing the agreement.”
He went quiet.
Then I heard him whisper:
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You actually did it.”
“Did what?”
“You finally stopped being the one who fixes everything.”
I didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
For years, whenever my parents had a problem, I solved it.
Whenever Brent needed help, I helped.
Whenever there was a family argument, I apologized.
Whenever my mother crossed a line, I moved the line.
A little farther.
And a little farther.
Until one day I realized I was standing outside the boundaries of my own life.
“I have to go,” I said.
“Julia.”
“What?”
“Mom is asking if you’re really going through with it.”
I looked at the clock.
8:23 a.m.
“Yes.”
He inhaled sharply.
“She’s crying.”
For one brief second, guilt hit me.
Then I remembered Emma’s face beneath the Christmas tree.
