Chapter 7: Sunday
Patricia arrived at noon with a folder under her arm and the look of a woman who had not slept well.
She sat at the dining room table across from Daniel and me.
The folder stayed closed in front of her for the first few minutes while we talked about nothing — coffee, the weather, how the kids were doing in school.
The small talk of people who are all waiting for someone else to go first.
Daniel went first.
"Mom.
The folder."
Patricia put her hand on it.
"Before I open this, I want you both to understand that I didn't know the full extent of it.
I want that on record."
"Noted," Daniel said.
"Open it."
She did.
Inside were printed emails.
Eleven of them.
Some dated back four years.
The first was from Megan to Patricia, asking for the name of the hiring manager at a company where Patricia had a former colleague.
The second was Patricia's response — a name, a direct phone number, a note that said *just don't tell Daniel.*
I read that line twice.
*Just don't tell Daniel.*
"You helped her," I said.
"I gave her a contact.
I didn't know what she was going to use it for."
"The email after that one is Megan telling you she'd made the call," Daniel said.
He'd clearly already read through the folder before today.
His voice was controlled in the way that meant he was working hard to keep it that way.
"You wrote back: *Good.
Hopefully that solves it.*"
Patricia's hands were folded on the table.
"I thought she just wanted to ask about the position.
To understand the process."
"She torpedoed my wife's job application," Daniel said.
"And you gave her the tools to do it."
"I didn't know—"
"Mom." He leaned forward.
"Stop saying you didn't know.
You knew enough to tell her not to tell me.
That's not ignorance.
That's a choice."
The room was very quiet.
Patricia looked at me.
And for the first time since I'd known her, she looked genuinely ashamed.
Not defensive.
Not careful.
Ashamed.
"I thought if you two had less," she said quietly, "Megan would feel less behind.
I thought it would even things out."
"You thought making us fail would make her feel better," I said.
"I thought it would make her stop being so angry." She shook her head.
"I know how that sounds."
"It sounds like you chose her over us," Daniel said.
"Repeatedly.
Over years."
"She's my daughter."
"I'm your son."
The words landed and stayed.
Patricia looked down at the folder.
"I'm sorry, Daniel.
I'm sorry to both of you.
What I did — what I allowed — it wasn't right.
I told myself I was keeping the peace, but I was just keeping her comfortable while she hurt you."
I thought about the job.
The studio.
The three years of saving.
My mother's medical bills stretching longer than they needed to because that salary increase never came.
"The emails," I said.
"Where did you get them?"
"I printed them myself," Patricia said.
"Last night.
After Daniel called." She pushed the folder toward us.
"I want you to have them.
Do with them what you need to."
Daniel looked at his mother for a long moment.
Something moved across his face that I couldn't fully read — grief, maybe, or the particular exhaustion of loving someone who has let you down badly.
"I need some time," he said.
"With you.
With all of this."
"I know."
"But first, Megan needs to face the family.
Not just us.
Everyone."
Patricia nodded slowly.
"I'll call your uncle.
And your father's sister.
If you want them there."
"I want everyone there," he said.
"I want her to say it in a room full of people who have been told for years that she can do no wrong."
Megan didn't know the family meeting had been called.
May you like
She thought it was a regular Sunday dinner.
She found out otherwise when she walked through the door and saw everyone already seated, and the folder open on the table, and Daniel standing at the head of the room waiting for her.
