Not once. When Dad’s birthday came the following year, Mom hosted a small dinner she could genuinely afford. No catering. No expensive wine. No performance. Mother-daughterjewelry
I brought a cake because I wanted to, not because guilt had forced me to. After dinner, Dad lifted his glass.
“To Olivia,” he said quietly. “For helping when we needed it. And for stopping when we needed that too.” Mom looked embarrassed, but she nodded.
Connor stared down at his plate.
I smiled, not because everything was repaired, but because for once, everyone at the table understood the truth. The lights above us glowed warm and steady. And for the first time in a year, they were not shining because of me.
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