“I know.”
“Aunt Martha.”
“I know.”
I stared at her.
“You aren’t sorry you tried.”
She flinched.
“You’re sorry it failed.”
“No.”
“Maybe you are sorry now.”
I corrected myself.
“But you weren’t sorry while I was being attacked.”
Chloe lowered her head.
Dad finally spoke.
“She gave Julian the four thousand.”
“I know.”
“And the twelve thousand would have gone to him too.”
“I know.”
“We stopped everything.”
I looked at Dad.
“Stopped what?”
“Payments.”
“Her car.”
“Apartment support.”
“Everything.”
Chloe began crying harder.
Dad continued anyway.
“She’s getting a job outside her firm until the divorce settles.”
I looked at her.
“What happened to the architecture job?”
“I resigned.”
“Why?”
Chloe barely whispered:
“People found out.”
I did not ask for details.
Her consequences were not mine to manage.
Mom looked up.
“We love you equally.”
I stared at her.
“I think you believe that.”
She seemed confused.
“That’s worse in some ways.”
“Leo.”
“You spent thirty years treating us differently and calling it equal because your feelings were equal.”
I gestured between Chloe and myself.
“But love isn’t only what you feel.”
“It’s what you repeatedly do.”
Dad closed his eyes.
I continued.
“Chloe always needed more because you trained her to need more.”
Mom shook her head.
“We were helping.”
“No.”
“You were rescuing.”
“There’s a difference.”
I looked at Chloe.
“She never had to learn where the edge was because you kept moving it for her.”
Then I looked at them both.
“And I never got rescued because I was useful when I didn’t need anything.”
Nobody spoke.
The room was painfully quiet.
Finally, I said:
“I’m done with that system.”
Mom looked frightened.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m not your backup plan anymore.”
“Leo.”
“It means nobody gets to volunteer my money.”
“My time.”
“My apartment.”
“My career.”
“My emotional energy.”
“Nothing.”
Dad nodded slowly.
“That’s fair.”
Mom started to object.
He looked at her.
“Helen.”
She stopped.
I turned toward Chloe.
“You owe me four thousand dollars.”
She nodded quickly.
“I know.”
“I want a payment plan by Monday.”
“I don’t have it.”
“I didn’t ask for all of it Monday.”
“I asked for a plan.”
She wiped her eyes.
“Okay.”
“Until that money is repaid, do not contact me unless it concerns the repayment.”
Her face fell.
“Leo.”
“No.”
I looked at Mom and Dad.
“You two are different.”
Mom’s eyes lifted hopefully.
“I need space.”
Hope vanished.
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“A week?”
“No.”
“Leo.”
“I spent thirty-two years being the easy child.”