Mom made a small sound from the doorway, somewhere between impatience and discomfort, as if sincerity without a self-protective speech attached to it embarrassed her.
That was the last straw for me.
I turned to her.
“If you have something to say to Lily, now is the time.”
Mom stiffened. “I’m not performing an apology under supervision.”
Lily stood up immediately. “Then don’t.”
She walked upstairs without waiting for anyone to answer.
The room went silent.
Dad closed his eyes.
Mom’s face flushed. “See? This is what I mean. She is disrespectful.”
“No,” I said. “She is finished.”
Mom said nothing after that. Perhaps because there was nothing left to say that would improve her standing. Perhaps because some part of her finally understood that the old weapons—guilt, status, parental rank—no longer landed where she aimed them.
By four o’clock the basement suite was empty.
Dad stood by the open hatchback of their car while the movers pulled away. Mom got into the passenger seat without looking back. Dad turned to me one last time.