My father shifted behind her.
“Claire, don’t make this difficult.”
There it was.
Difficult.
At seven, I was difficult because I refused to give Vanessa the doll our grandmother had brought me from France.
At thirteen, I was difficult because I told a teacher Vanessa had copied my homework.
At twenty-two, I was difficult because I wanted voting rights connected to the company shares our grandfather left equally to both of us.
Vanessa was younger by three years, prettier in the polished way my mother understood, and gifted at making desire look like injury.
If she wanted something and I said no, my refusal became evidence of selfishness.
Mother stepped closer.
“You have already caused enough humiliation.”
“By asking why my company shares disappeared?”
“They did not disappear.”
“They were transferred.”
“Under legal authority.”
“Using documents signed while I was recovering from surgery.”
My father finally looked at me.
“You signed them.”
“No.”
“You don’t remember.”
“I remember every nurse who entered my room. I remember the medication schedule. I remember Vanessa bringing flowers and asking where I kept my office passwords.”
Mother gave a tired sigh.
“You have always created stories when reality disappointed you.”
I looked at my father.
“Did you bring the originals?”
His face tightened.
“What originals?”
“The share-transfer authorization. The board resolution. The signature verification.”
“This is not a business meeting.”
“No. It’s a threat delivered in my hallway.”
Mother removed one glove finger by finger.
“You lost Adrian. Vanessa did not steal him.”
“I didn’t say she stole him.”
“You imply it constantly.”
“I said he was engaged to me when she began seeing him.”
“She understood him better.”
“That is one description.”
Mother’s mouth hardened.
“She is marrying him. You will respect that.”
“By disappearing?”
