“I thought it would break you.”
“By you,” she said. “Not by him.”
I reached for her. “Iris, please.”
She moved back. “Don’t touch me!”
“I thought I was protecting you.”
“No,” she said. “You were protecting the version of the story where you were the only one who stayed.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
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“Don’t touch me!”
For once, my daughter had explained me better than I could explain myself.
“Call Anthony.”
“It’s after midnight.”
“You had twelve years,” she said. “I get tonight.”
Ryan pulled out his phone. “I can call my mom.”
Iris wiped her face. “Do it. Please.”
“I can call my mom.”
***
Twenty minutes later, headlights crossed my living room wall again.
Gina came in first, wearing the careful face of a woman dragged into a storm. She reached Ryan and held him tightly.
