And here it was.
Twelve years of humiliation, cruelty and unforgettable insults, reduced to: We’re sorry if you got it wrong.
I looked at Jordan, check in hand, and suddenly I knew I couldn’t stay silent.
I reached out and took the check from him.
“No,” I said firmly.
All three stared at me.
My mother blinked. “What do you mean, no?”
“You can’t spend twelve years humiliating him and then erase it in twelve seconds with a fake apology.”
Dad’s face hardened. “But we apologized.”
“No,” I replied. “You said things you didn’t mean because you wanted money.”
Mom’s voice became louder. “We’re trying.”
Dad leaned back with a disappointed sigh before turning to Jordan, as men like him do when they think another man can overcome a woman.
“Are you seriously letting her do that?” he asked. “We came to you.”
