Margaret reached for her handbag.
She placed a folder on the table.
Linda immediately looked at it.
"What is that?"
Margaret opened it.
"The correspondence."
She removed the copies of the three letters.
She placed them beside her plate.
I recognized them immediately.
The same pages.
The same dates.
My name at the bottom.
My father looked at them.
Emma stopped moving her fork.
Linda remained very still.
Margaret explained that she wanted everyone to understand why she had been so upset at Christmas.
She said the apartment had been purchased specifically for me.
She had arranged the ownership documents.
She had intended to give me the keys personally.
Instead, she had received letters suggesting that I already knew about the property and was grateful for it.
I watched Linda.
She didn't look at Margaret.
She looked at the papers.
My father picked up one letter.
He read it slowly.
Then he placed it down.
"These are the letters you mentioned?"
Margaret nodded.
"Yes."
He looked at me.
I shook my head.
"I never wrote them."
He nodded.
I couldn't tell whether he was surprised by the wording or simply uncomfortable seeing the evidence.
Margaret explained that she had kept the envelopes.
She had kept the original letters too.
She didn't want anybody to claim that the documents had been misunderstood.
Linda finally spoke.
"Nobody was trying to hurt Lydia."
Margaret looked at her.
"Then why was she never told about the apartment?"
Linda said the situation had become complicated.
Margaret asked what was complicated about giving someone the gift purchased for her.
Linda didn't answer.
Emma stared at her plate.
My father rubbed his forehead.
I looked around the table.
The same people had been present at Christmas.
But this time, I wasn't the only person trying to understand what had happened.
The evidence was sitting in front of everyone.
Margaret asked Linda whether she knew who had sent the letters.
Linda said she had already explained that she hadn't been involved in writing them.
Margaret didn't argue.
She simply said the letters needed to remain part of the record of what had happened.
I appreciated that.
I didn't want another argument based on guesses.
I wanted the truth.
My father finally spoke.
He admitted that he had known the apartment was intended for me.
He said he had agreed to let Emma stay there because Linda had convinced him it would be temporary.
He said he had expected the arrangement to be sorted out before Margaret returned.
I asked him why he hadn't contacted me.
He said he thought I would understand.
I looked at him.
"Understand what?"
He struggled to answer.
I told him that I had never been asked.
Nobody had explained the arrangement.
Nobody had requested permission.
I had simply been left out.
Then Emma spoke.
"I knew it wasn't originally mine."
Everyone looked at her.
She wiped her eyes.
She said Linda had told her Margaret wanted to help the family.
She said she understood that the apartment was intended to help her while she studied.
I asked whether she knew Margaret had purchased it for me.
Emma nodded slowly.
"Mom told me you probably wouldn't need it."
I felt something tighten in my chest.
I looked at Linda.
She didn't respond.
Emma continued.
"She said you were already managing."
I looked down at the table.
There it was again.
My independence had become their justification.
I asked Emma whether she had ever considered calling me.
She shook her head.
I asked why.
She said she didn't want to lose the apartment.
That answer hurt.
But at least it was honest.
I took a breath.
"I understand that you liked living there. But you knew it wasn't yours."
Emma began crying.
I didn't tell her to stop.
I didn't comfort her immediately.
I simply let her feel what she was feeling.
I had spent too many years managing everybody else's emotions.
Margaret closed the folder.
She said the apartment had been returned to its intended owner.
She wasn't interested in discussing any other arrangement.
Linda looked toward my father.
He remained silent.
For the first time, I saw him understand that this wasn't something he could fix by asking me to be patient.
The apartment was no longer an idea.
Danny and I were living there.
Our belongings were inside.
Our lives had moved forward.
And nobody at that table could pretend otherwise.
Click here to continue reading: PART 19: Emma Finally Admitted Why She Had Stayed Silent, and I Realized That Forgiving Someone Would Not Mean Giving Them Another Chance to Take From Me
I Had Spent My Whole Life Being Called Independent, Until One Small Thank-You Made Everyone at Christmas Dinner Stop Talking
Part 18 of 20
