“Elena,” he said softly. “Can we talk?”
“Did Mom send you?”
“No.”
“Did Isabella?”
“No.”
You waited.
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He looked down at the toy.
“I failed you.”
The sentence was so unexpected you felt nothing at first.
Then too much.
“At the wedding, I saw your face,” he said. “I saw Mateo crying. And I still asked you to apologize because I wanted the room to calm down.”
His eyes filled.
“I’ve done that your whole life. Asked you to calm the room instead of asking them to stop hurting you.”
You gripped the doorframe.
“Why?”
“Because your mother was harder to confront. Because Isabella made every consequence feel like a tragedy. Because you were strong, and I used that as an excuse to protect you less.”
Tears burned your eyes.
“That’s not fair.”
“I know.”
“You let them treat my son like he didn’t belong.”
