“To answer Madison’s question,” I continued calmly, entirely ignoring her tantrum. “The question she was screaming into my voicemail ten minutes ago about why I have this house? You can tell her it’s because I didn’t have you and Robert dragging me down. I didn’t blow my future on a party to impress people I don’t like.”
“Hannah, you listen to me right now—” Elaine screamed.
“No,” I said quietly, a profound, sweeping peace washing over my entire body. “You listen to the dial tone.”
I hit the red button.
Part 5: The Fortress of Glass
The call ended. The kitchen plunged back into the quiet, serene hum of the refrigerator and the gentle rustle of the wind through the oak trees outside.
I looked down at my hands. They weren’t shaking. My chest wasn’t tight. I didn’t feel the urge to cry, or scream, or call her back to justify myself. The emotional umbilical cord, which had been fraying for three years, had finally, permanently snapped.
