The judge ordered Grant remanded pending sentencing.
He exploded then.
Not loudly at first.
A low, furious, “No.”
Then louder.
“No. No, this is insane.”
His attorney grabbed his arm.
“Grant, stop.”
Grant shook him off.
He turned toward me.
“You did this.”
The marshals moved.
Grant pointed at me.
“You came back just to destroy me.”
I stood slowly.
Rachel touched my sleeve, but I gently moved away.
Grant was breathing hard.
All his polish gone.
All his charity dinners.
All his navy suits.
All his dependable-son softness.
Gone.
What remained was the boy who broke something and blamed me before our parents entered the room.
“You always had to be special,” he spat. “The uniform. The medals. The perfect daughter pretending not to care. You left, Lily. You left, and I stayed.”
I looked at him.
“Then why did you need my name?”
That stopped him.
The whole courtroom heard it.
Grant’s face twisted.
“You don’t know what it was like.”
“No,” I said. “I know exactly what it was like. You couldn’t become me, so you buried me and wore the parts that paid.”
The marshals took his arms.
He fought them for one second.
Just enough to look pathetic.
Then he looked at our mother.
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