Inside, Michael and Sarah cut cake and laughed, frosting smudged on Michael’s finger. My mother caught my eye and smiled—small, proud.
David held out his hand.
I took it.
Later, Jessica approached me, quiet.
“Emma,” she said.
Up close, she looked exhausted. Older in the eyes.
“Can we talk?” she asked.
We stepped to the side.
“I didn’t know,” she said immediately. “About the money. About what Dad did. I found out later. Alex told me when things started falling apart.”
I believed her. Jessica had been favored, protected—but not deliberately cruel. She’d been asleep in the warmth of being chosen.
“I’m sorry,” she said, eyes bright. “I never would’ve wanted that.”
“I know,” I said. “This wasn’t your fault.”
She swallowed. “Are you happy?”
I looked at David laughing with Michael. My mother dancing freely. I thought about Toronto, my work, my life.
“Yes,” I said. “I really am.”
Jessica sagged with relief and grief. “I’m glad,” she whispered. “Truly.”
We hugged—brief, careful. Not a reunion. Not a grand forgiveness. Just acknowledgment of damage and truth.
“Congratulations,” she said softly.
“Thank you,” I replied.
And when she walked away, something settled inside me.
Not because the past changed.
But because I no longer needed it to.
