I let out a dry, humorless laugh.
My mother looked down at her shoes.
“We would pay you back,” she promised.
“You haven’t spoken to me in eight months, you missed my wedding, and you let people say I sabotaged Isabelle,” I reminded them.
“It was all a giant misunderstanding,” my mother pleaded.
I opened a drawer, took out the folder, and placed the screenshots on the desk.
“It was not a misunderstanding, it was planned,” I said.
My mother turned pale.
“That is totally out of context,” she argued.
“Isabelle wrote that the family would have to choose, and you replied that I would always overcome it, so what context is missing?” I asked.
My father covered his face with one hand.
“You are right, and I am tired of this, Carmen,” he said.
My mother glared at him.
“Robert, do not you dare start with me,” she snapped.
“No, enough is enough, and our son is right,” he continued.
“We made him invisible his whole life because Isabelle always made more noise,” he admitted.
I stood still, as it was the first time my father had said anything close to the truth.
“I thought you were strong, and that you didn’t need us to take care of you, but that was just an excuse to neglect you,” he said.
My mother started to cry, but those tears would have destroyed me a year ago.
I would have hugged her and signed the check, but I was no longer that man.
“I am not going to lend you the money,” I said firmly.
My mother let out a loud, pathetic sob.
“Holden, please,” she begged.
