Chapter 13 - THE HOME WE BUILT OURSELVES
One year after the false wedding, I moved into my own apartment.
Not Daniel's.
Mine.
I had been promoted at the design firm.
I had saved enough money for a security deposit.
And I had chosen every piece of furniture myself.
The sofa was green.
The kitchen table was secondhand.
The curtains were yellow.
Daniel helped me assemble a bookshelf.
It took four hours.
We argued about the instructions.
Then laughed until we cried.
My brother Noah visited every Sunday.
His health had improved.
He had started studying graphic design.
Our parents had begun repaying part of the money they received from the Carters, under an agreement arranged by attorneys.
I spoke to them occasionally.
But forgiveness remained complicated.
One evening, my mother called.
“Emma.”
“Yes?”
She hesitated.
“I know we hurt you.”
I said nothing.
She continued.
“We thought we were saving Noah.”
I closed my eyes.
“You could have asked me.”
Her voice broke.
“I know.”
I swallowed.
“You could have told me the truth.”
“I know.”
For the first time, she didn't make excuses.
I looked around my apartment.
At the green sofa.
The yellow curtains.
The life I had built.
“I need more time,” I said.
She began crying.
“I understand.”
After the call, Daniel arrived carrying takeout.
He looked at my face.
“Bad day?”
“Complicated.”
He nodded.
“Want to talk?”
“Not yet.”
He smiled.
“Then let's eat.”
We sat on the floor because the dining chairs hadn't arrived.
Daniel opened the containers.
I laughed.
“What?”
He looked confused.
“Nothing.”
I leaned against him.
“I'm just happy.”
He kissed my forehead.
“Good.”
That night, after he left, I stood beside the window.
A year earlier, I'd believed my future had been stolen.
Now I understood something.
It had been interrupted.
May you like
Not destroyed.
And I was finally learning how to write the next part myself.
