“Karen,” my voice trembled slightly, betraying a crack in the foundation. “I am staying for the reception. I am helping Lillian with the final arrangements. She was my sister.”
“Mom, Tyler and Madison have state swim practice and travel soccer, and Derek and I have that wine-tasting thing in Nashville. We’ve had it booked for months. Non-refundable.”
“Then perhaps Derek’s parents can step in this once.”
“They are completely useless with the kids, you know that,” she scoffed. “Besides, Tyler only wants you. He’ll throw a fit for anyone else.”
Perhaps, in a different era of my life, I would have felt a flush of maternal flattery. Instead, a profound, heavy exhaustion settled into my bones—a deep-tissue fatigue that had been quietly accumulating interest for over a decade.
“I’m sorry, Karen,” I stated, my voice finally finding its steel. “This weekend, I simply cannot.”
The silence that followed wasn’t just thick; it was weaponized.
“Wow,” Karen exhaled, a sharp, bitter sound. “Okay. I guess I know exactly where your priorities lie now.”
“Karen—”
“Good to know that Aunt Ruth, who is dead, matters more to you than your own living grandchildren.”
