Chapter 2: The Crueler They Were, the Kinder I Became
On the twenty-ninth day of the countdown, only four chairs remained at the breakfast table.
Mom moved mine against the wall. “Claire isn't comfortable sitting beside you. Stand and serve the soup.”
I filled everyone's bowl before finally picking up my own.
Dad tapped the table. “Apologize to Claire first.”
“I didn't push her.”
“We raised you for twenty years, and you can't even offer one apology?”
“I'm sorry.”
Claire lowered her head. “Erin must really hate me.”
Julian immediately placed my car keys beside her. “Drive Erin's car from now on. Wherever you want to go, I'll go with you.”
I looked at him. “I need that car for school and work.”
“You can walk,” Julian said coldly. “Claire grew up with nothing. Why can't you give her one car?”
It poured that afternoon. Claire drove away in my car, and I walked forty minutes home with rainwater filling my shoes.
Nolan was waiting in the living room. He pushed the box containing my wedding dress toward me.
“Send it out for alterations tomorrow.”
“You're really going to cut it apart?”
“We need lace for the tablecloths, floral arrangements, and Claire's dress.”
He handed me three sheets of paper. “Confirm the menu, flowers, and her measurements tonight.”
I looked at the box. “I designed this wedding dress myself.”
Nolan frowned. “Stop reminding everyone that the wedding was supposed to be yours.”
I wiped the rain from the papers. “All right. I'll finish tonight.”
The next day, I gave the measurements and menu to Claire. She picked up Mom's most treasured porcelain figurine and suddenly let it fall.
It shattered. One piece cut her finger.
When Mom rushed in, Claire hid behind her, crying.
“Erin said I stole her bedroom and wedding. She said she'd smash everything I owned.”
“I never said that.”
Dad pointed at the broken pieces. “Get on your knees and clean it up.”
“She dropped it herself.”
“Claire is bleeding, and you're still trying to blame her?”
Julian threw the figurine's base at my feet. “Mom received this for her wedding. You're paying for it.”
Nolan looked at the shards around me, his expression turning colder.
“Erin, do you have no dignity left?”
I stopped explaining. I knelt and picked up the pieces one by one. A sharp edge sliced my palm, and blood dripped onto the white porcelain.
Claire drew back her injured hand. I fetched the first-aid kit and disinfected and bandaged her cut.
She stared at me. “Why are you still helping me?”
“The cut could get infected.”
“Don't you hate me?”
I secured the bandage. “Soon, no one will ever make you feel unsafe again.”
For the next twenty-two days, I never defended myself again.
I sorted a month's worth of Dad's blood pressure medication and recopied Mom's stomach-friendly recipes. I sewed every loose button on Julian's shirts and placed his travel checklist in his suitcase. I paid the wedding cancellation fees for Nolan and confirmed every dish for Claire's welcome party.
I also prepared a welcome gift for Claire and hung the clothes she liked neatly in her closet.
Late at night, I sat in the guest room and began writing four goodbyes.
A letter of gratitude to my parents. An album for Julian. A welcome letter for Claire. And the journal that held seven years of memories with Nolan.
The number on my new phone changed to seven.
Only seven days remained.
On the final page of the journal, I wrote, “This is the last time I will love you.”
