But when I opened it, it wasn’t my mother.
It was Ryan.
No coat.
Cheeks flushed from the cold.
A half-wrapped gift in his hands.
The hallway behind him was empty.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
His usual confidence was gone.
“Depends,” I said. “Are you here to drag me back to Mom’s table or to actually listen for once?”
He exhaled, shoulders sinking.
“I left,” he admitted. “She spent the whole dinner yelling about you, about how you ruined everything. She didn’t apologize, not once. I kept waiting. She just kept saying how embarrassed she was.”
“Embarrassed,” I repeated. “Not sorry.”
He nodded miserably.
“There’s a difference,” I said.
He looked at me then.
Really looked.
Like he was seeing me clearly for the first time.
“I… I didn’t know about the account,” he said quietly. “I mean, I knew Mom found money when I was in trouble, but I thought… I don’t know what I thought. That she had savings. That Dad helped. I didn’t realize she took it from you.”
“You never asked,” I replied. “You never wanted to know where your safety net came from.”
He flinched.
“You’re right,” he said. “I didn’t. That’s on me.”
