Rebecca stood up. “Mom, you’re overreacting—”
“I am reacting exactly enough,” I cut in. “Sit down or leave. But don’t manage me.”
That stopped her.
It stopped all of them.
For the first time in years, no one corrected my tone. No one redirected the moment. No one told me to be reasonable.
Charles closed the folder slowly, as if the conversation might still be salvaged if he moved carefully enough.
“We can handle this like adults,” he said.
“We are,” I replied. “Adults tell the truth and live with the consequences. You started that. I’m finishing it.”
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