Chapter 5: The Family Meeting
Three days later, my parents demanded a family meeting.
Demanded.
That was the word.
Not requested.
Not asked.
Demanded.
My mother sent the message early in the morning.
We need to talk before this gets worse.
I stared at the screen.
Before this gets worse.
As if the worst thing happening was everyone finding out.
As if the violence itself wasn't the problem.
Marcus read the message over my shoulder.
"Don't go.""
I looked at him.
"You think I shouldn't?""
"I think they want you there because they need something from you.""
He wasn't wrong.
But I needed answers.
I needed to understand why Rachel had reached that point.
And maybe, deep down, I needed to know if my family had any chance of being saved.
The meeting was held at my parents' house.
The same house where Rachel and I grew up.
The same house where our childhood photos still hung on the walls.
The irony wasn't lost on me.
A place full of memories.
And somehow, almost none of them felt real anymore.
Rachel was already there.
She looked different.
Not broken.
Not devastated.
Just tired.
My parents sat across from us.
My father cleared his throat.
"We need to find a way forward.""
I almost smiled.
A way forward.
Everyone loved those words.
They sounded better than accountability.
Marcus sat beside me.
His hand rested protectively on my chair.
My mother looked at Rachel.
"She wants to apologize.""
I looked at Rachel.
"Do you?""
Rachel nodded.
"I'm sorry.""
I waited.
That was all.
Just sorry.
No explanation.
No responsibility.
No "I hurt you.""
No "I scared you.""
I looked at her.
"Why?""
She frowned.
"What?""
"Why did you do it?""
Her eyes moved away.
"I was upset.""
"That's not an answer.""
"Claire.""
"No.""
My voice became stronger.
"I want to know why my sister looked me in the eyes and decided to hurt my baby.""
The room became uncomfortable.
Good.
It should have.
Rachel crossed her arms.
"You always do this.""
I stared.
"Do what?""
"Make everything about you.""
Marcus stood slightly.
I grabbed his hand.
Because I needed to hear this.
I needed Rachel to say it.
"I almost lost my daughter.""
"And I almost lost my family.""
The words hit me.
I couldn't believe them.
"Are you serious?""
Rachel's eyes filled.
"You don't understand.""
"No, I don't.""
"Because nobody ever understands me.""
There it was.
The victim.
The role Rachel had always played.
She had always been the person who suffered the most.
Even when someone else was bleeding.
My father sighed.
"Rachel has been struggling.""
"With what?""
Nobody answered.
I looked at my mother.
"With what?""
Finally, she spoke.
"She lost her job.""
I blinked.
"What?""
Rachel looked down.
"Six months ago.""
I frowned.
"Why didn't anyone tell me?""
Rachel laughed bitterly.
"Because everyone was too busy celebrating you.""
I stared at her.
"Rachel, I didn't know.""
"Exactly.""
She looked at me.
"You didn't know.""
Her voice cracked.
"You never know because nobody tells you anything bad anymore.""
I felt something shift.
Not forgiveness.
Understanding.
And sometimes understanding was more painful.
Because I could see the wound underneath her anger.
But wounds didn't excuse violence.
"Rachel...""
She shook her head.
"No. You don't get it.""
She stood.
"Every time something good happened to you, something disappeared from my life.""
I stared at her.
"That isn't my fault.""
"I know.""
But the way she said it told me she didn't fully believe it.
Then my father spoke quietly.
"There is something else.""
Everyone looked at him.
My heart started beating faster.
"What?""
He hesitated.
And that hesitation told me everything.
"What aren't you telling me?""
My mother looked at the floor.
Rachel looked terrified.
Marcus noticed too.
"Say it.""
My father's face changed.
"The money for the nursery.""
I froze.
"What about it?""
He swallowed.
"We didn't just offer to help you.""
Silence.
"We offered to help Rachel first.""
The room tilted.
"What?""
My mother closed her eyes.
"We were helping her financially after she lost her job.""
I stared at them.
"And?""
My father looked ashamed.
"She asked us to stop helping you.""
The words landed harder than I expected.
Rachel looked away.
"Because I needed help.""
"You asked them to take support away from me?""
"I asked them to understand how I felt.""
"No.""
I shook my head.
"You asked them to punish me.""
Rachel started crying.
But this time, I didn't move toward her.
Because I finally understood.
The kick wasn't about one argument.
It wasn't about jealousy over a baby.
It was about years of resentment.
Years of comparison.
May you like
Years of Rachel believing my happiness was proof of her failure.
And she had chosen my unborn daughter as the place to release all of it.
