Her engagement ring still glittered under the lights.
Dylan did not ask for it back.
He didn’t threaten her, insult her, or announce some dramatic punishment.
He simply told her he would contact her the next day about separating their things and canceling what needed to be canceled.
Consequences arrived without theatrics.
That seemed to terrify her more.
As Milo stuffed the last crayon into its paper box, Dylan came over to us.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
I shook my head.
“You didn’t say it.”
“No.
But I knew she was planning something and I thought she might stop herself.”
His jaw tightened.
“I should have said something before the toast.”
I appreciated that he didn’t ask me to absolve him.
So I didn’t.
“Thank you for saying something when you did.”
He nodded.
Milo looked between us.
“Who’s he?”
Despite everything, I smiled.
“That’s Dylan.”
Milo held up the spaceship.
“It can go to Mars.”
Dylan looked at the drawing with complete seriousness.
“Looks fast enough.”
Milo beamed.
Then we left.
My mother followed us into the corridor outside the private room.
“Can I talk to you?”
I stopped.
She looked smaller away from the table.
“I should have defended you.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know why I laughed.”
“I do.”
She waited.
“Because disagreeing with them would have been uncomfortable.”
Her face tightened.
I adjusted Milo’s coat.
“You chose your comfort over mine.”
She nodded slowly.
“I did.”
Again, no excuse.
For years, I had imagined that if my family ever acknowledged what they were doing, I would feel triumphant.
I didn’t.
I felt tired.
But underneath the exhaustion was something lighter.
Space.
My mother asked whether she could call me the next day.
“You can call,” I said.
“I’m not promising everything goes back to normal.”
“I understand.”
And for once, I thought she actually might.
Outside, the air was cold enough to make Milo tuck his chin into his coat.
He slipped his hand into mine as we walked toward the car.
