I shook my head.
“You decided for all of us. You didn’t even give me a choice!”
“I know. I’m sorry, Sarah.”
His first apology.
I hated it. Part of me wanted him to argue—give me something to push against.
But he just stood there, taking it.
Behind me, the door opened.
One of the girls called my name. I turned instinctively. “Coming!”
Then back to him. “This isn’t over.”
He nodded. “I’ll be here. My number’s at the bottom of the letter.”
I didn’t reply. I just walked back inside, the envelope still in my hand.
And for the first time in fifteen years, I had no idea what came next.
I stood in the kitchen a moment longer than necessary after helping Dora with the oven. She insisted on baking cookies.
Her sisters were nearby—one scrolling on her phone, the other leaning against the fridge.
I set the envelope on the table.
“We need to talk,” I said.
All three looked up.
Something in my voice must’ve told them this was serious, because no one joked.
Jenny crossed her arms. “What’s going on?”
I glanced toward the front door. “Your father was here.”
Lyra blinked. “Who?”
I didn’t soften it.
“Your dad.”
Dora let out a small laugh. “Yeah, okay.”
“I’m serious.”
Her expression dropped immediately.
Jenny straightened. “The man you were talking to outside?”
“Yes.”
Lyra spoke next. “Why now?”
I picked up the envelope.
“He brought this. I need you to sit down.”
They did.
They didn’t interrupt while I spoke. That surprised me.
I explained the letter first.
The debts. The pressure. The decisions Edwin made.
And why he believed leaving would protect them.
Jenny looked away halfway through. Lyra leaned forward, focused. Dora stared at the table.
Then I showed them the documents.
“This is everything your father rebuilt. Every debt and account. It’s all cleared.”
Lyra picked up a page and scanned it.
“Is this… real?”
“Yes.”
“And it’s all in our names?”
I nodded.
Dora finally spoke.
“So he just left… fixed everything… and came back with paperwork?”
I sighed.
Jenny pushed her chair back slightly.
“I don’t care about the money,” she said. “Why didn’t he come back sooner?”
That was the question. The one I’d asked myself a hundred ways in the past hour.
I shook my head.
“I don’t have a better answer than what’s in the letter.”
She exhaled and looked down.
Lyra placed the papers neatly back on the table.
“We should talk to him.”
Dora looked up. “Right now?!”
“Yeah,” Lyra said. “We’ve waited long enough, haven’t we?”
I nodded.
“Okay. His number’s at the bottom of the letter.”
CONTINUE READING...>>
To see the full instructions for this recipe, go to the next page or click the open button (>) and don't forget to share it with your friends on Facebook.
