Chapter 2 - The Story My Parents Chose
Dad tried to pull us inside.
I refused.
“You started this in front of everyone. Finish it.”
Mom looked physically ill.
“Elena, please.”
Sienna was still kneeling near the stage, mascara running down her cheeks.
Dad lowered the microphone.
“Your mother had severe postpartum depression after Sienna was born.”
“Richard.”
“She was taking medication.”
Mom’s face changed.
Not guilt.
Fury.
Dad continued anyway.
“The night of the fire, she’d been drinking wine. She went upstairs to check on Sienna. There was a candle burning in the nursery.”
I looked at Mom.
“You started it?”
She swallowed.
“That’s what your father has always believed.”
The wording bothered me.
“That isn’t an answer.”
Dad snapped, “We protected you from this.”
I almost laughed.
“You made me wear turtlenecks to family barbecues.”
“Because people asked questions!”
There it was.
Not concern about my trauma.
Questions.
Mom finally stepped toward me.
“You were seven. You spent months in and out of the hospital. We thought knowing more would hurt you.”
“I’m twenty-two.”
She had no answer.
Sienna stood unsteadily.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me Elena saved me?”
Dad looked at her.
“You knew there was a fire.”
“You told me Elena got hurt because she panicked and ran into the house after everyone was already safe.”
I turned toward him.
That was new.
Dad had told each daughter a different story.
The guests were beginning to leave.
Security was trying unsuccessfully to stop people from filming.
My father looked less concerned about his daughters than about the phones.
“Everyone inside,” he ordered.
I picked my cover-up out of the pool.
Then I dropped it back into the water.
“No.”
May you like
That was the first time I had ever walked through my father’s estate with my scars uncovered.
It was also the last night I slept there.
