“No. Let her ask.”
Emily’s chin trembled.
“You always get to be the good one. The brave one. The one everyone feels sorry for.”
There it was.
Not the whole truth, perhaps, but enough of it.
I looked at my sister and finally understood that my scars had become more than an unpleasant visual reminder for her.
They reminded her of a story in which she was helpless and I was strong.
She had spent years trying to escape that imbalance, and instead of telling me, she had tried to erase the evidence of it whenever it threatened the version of herself she wanted other people to see.
“I never needed you to repay me,” I said.
Emily wiped at one eye.
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
She went still.
“I saved you because you were my little sister. I never asked you to live grateful. I never asked you to introduce me as a hero. I never asked you to make the fire part of your wedding.”
My hands rested uncovered on my lap now; somewhere during the confrontation, I had pulled off the ivory gloves without noticing.
“All I expected was not to be treated like something ugly you needed moved out of the frame.”
Emily looked down.
She did not apologize that afternoon.
I am glad she didn’t.
Any apology she could have offered in that hallway would have been tangled with panic over Daniel, anger at our parents, embarrassment in front of the guests, and fear about what came next.
I did not want words she was saying because the consequences had finally become painful for her.
Daniel did not marry Emily that day.
He also did not make any grand announcement about whether they were finished forever.
He told her they needed time apart and that whatever happened next would be decided privately, after both of them had stopped reacting to the wreckage of the ceremony.
That was his choice.
I respected it.
