Then he looked at me.
“You, Erika… you were born into this house, but sometimes I wonder if that was the real mistake.”
I stared at him, silent.
“There’s a reason why Camille’s thriving and you’re still stuck ironing clothes and burning food. If I had a choice, she’d be my daughter. She doesn’t rely on men for anything.”
The room spun, my breath tightening. I didn’t reply. I never did. I had learned over the years that pain was quieter when swallowed.
But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
I thought I could endure that and continue living this life, but not until that same night. He left his laptop open on the dining table. The email app still running. I wasn’t snooping. I swear, I wasn’t. But the subject line caught my eye:
“Paris – Wedding Confirmation”
My heart stopped. I clicked it.
Inside was a beautifully crafted itinerary. Elegant fonts. Gold accents. Venue details. Champagne menus.
A wedding. In Paris. Kier and Camille.
And the guest list? My father. My son. His wife.
My family.
Everyone… but me.
They hadn’t just excluded me. They had replaced me.
I finally snapped when I heard Kier’s voice from the bedroom.
“Erika!”
I turned slightly.
He threw a wrinkled shirt at me.