Andrew stood beside me as the blades pulled his mother’s elegant handwriting into thin white strips.
I did not feel triumphant.
I thought of Lucy in the hospital, of Andrew defending the woman who had nearly destroyed us, and of the years I had spent measuring every word so Sophia could never use my voice against me.
The cake had been meant to erase me quietly.
Instead, it exposed everything her polished smile had concealed.
And for the first time since entering that family, I no longer needed anyone’s permission to name the truth.
