The following day, I drove back to my parents' house.
I hadn't planned to stay long.
I only wanted to speak with my father and make sure he had the records he needed.
When I arrived, the Christmas decorations were still outside.
The wreath remained on the front door.
The lights were switched off.
I carried the blue folder inside.
My father was waiting in the dining room.
The table had been cleared.
The good china was gone.
But the white mug was still there.
It sat near the end of the table.
I recognized the words immediately.
Dare to fly.
I looked away.
“Come in,” Dad said.
He looked older than he had the previous evening.
There were papers spread across the table.
Some were the copies from my folder.
Others appeared to be household records.
My mother was sitting near the window.
Sebastian stood by the kitchen entrance.
Nobody smiled.
I placed the folder on the table.
“Here.”
Dad nodded.
“Thank you.”
He opened it.
Then he looked at the first receipt.
“I've been reviewing these.”
I sat down.
He asked me to explain the dates.
I did.
He asked whether the payments had been made from my personal account.
I confirmed that they had.
He asked whether I had received any written explanation.
I told him I had only received the instructions from my mother.
He took notes.
My mother remained quiet.
Sebastian pulled out a chair.
He looked at the papers.
“I still don't understand why Chloe had to do this.”
My father looked at him.
“Neither do I.”
My mother shifted in her seat.
“Arthur, I already explained that I was trying to manage things.”
Dad put down his pen.
“You haven't explained anything.”
She looked at me.
I kept my eyes on the papers.
Dad asked another question.
“Did you tell Chloe that I knew about the payments?”
My mother didn't respond immediately.
Then she said:
“I didn't want her worrying about us.”
“That isn't an answer.”
She looked down.
I felt uncomfortable listening to them.
But I stayed.
For once, I wasn't going to leave the room just because the conversation was difficult.
My father picked up one of the receipts.
“Why did you make her responsible for this?”
Rebecca's voice became small.
“I needed help.”
“And why did you hide it?”
She shook her head.
“I didn't want you to be upset.”
He stared at her.
“I'm upset now.”
Sebastian looked at the table.
I noticed that he wasn't wearing the watch.
Perhaps he had taken it off.
Perhaps I had simply missed it.
Dad turned toward me.
“Did you ever ask your mother whether the money was being used for anything else?”
I thought carefully.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because she told me it was for the house.”
He nodded.
Then he looked at Rebecca.
“You told her the money was for the mortgage.”
“Yes.”
“And you let me believe the house had been paid off.”
My mother didn't answer.
Dad leaned back.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then he asked me whether I wanted the folder returned.
I looked at him.
“Yes.”
He closed it and pushed it toward me.
I placed my hand on the cover.
I didn't want to leave it behind.
Not because I wanted to accuse anyone.
Because I had finally learned that keeping my own records mattered.
My father looked at me.
“I'm sorry you were put in this position.”
I wasn't expecting that.
I nodded.
“Thank you.”
He looked toward the white mug.
Then back at me.
“You shouldn't have been treated that way at dinner.”
My mother lowered her head.
I didn't say anything.
The apology was small.
But it was the first one I had received.
Click here to continue reading: PART 12: My Father Finally Admitted He Had Trusted the Wrong Silence, While I Refused to Return to the Life I Had Left Behind
The Christmas Gift That Made Me Realize I Had Never Been Seen the Way I Thought I Was
Part 11 of 20
