She wrapped both hands around her coffee cup. “Mom always told me you looked down on us. That you thought you were smarter. That you were trying to make Dad feel guilty. I think I believed her because it made it easier to take what I wanted.”
“That ticket was mine.”
“I know.” Her eyes filled. “I knew then too. Not that you were the speaker. But I knew it mattered to you. And I took it because I liked feeling chosen.”
That honesty hurt more than denial.
“I spent years not being chosen,” I said.
Haley wiped her face. “I know that now.”
I looked at her carefully. “Do you?”
She reached into her bag and pulled out a folded envelope.
Inside was a check.
I frowned. “What is this?”
“Car insurance. The money you paid. I asked Dad. He told me everything you covered. I can’t pay all of it yet, but I started working part-time. I’ll pay you back.”
I stared at the check.
It was not much.
It meant more than I wanted it to.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because sorry without repair is just a speech.”
I almost smiled despite myself.
“Who taught you that?”
She looked embarrassed. “Your graduation speech.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I folded the check and put it back in the envelope.
“I’ll accept this,” I said. “But not as payment for forgiveness.”
read more in next page
