“She knew exactly what she built,” I said. “And she knew what she wanted to do with it.”
He stepped closer.
“Don’t think this changes anything between us.”
For years, a sentence like that would have frightened me.
It would have sent me searching for an apology.
A compromise.
Some way to prove I was still worthy of being his daughter.
This time, I realized something.
He was threatening to withhold a relationship in which I’d spent my entire life feeling unwelcome.
I looked directly at him.
“You’re right,” I said.
He frowned.
“What?”
“This doesn’t change anything between us.”
His eyes narrowed.
I continued.
“You still think the only version of me that matters is the one you’ve invented. And I’m done trying to correct it.”
He opened his mouth.
I didn’t wait.
I turned toward my mother.
“I loved Nana. I didn’t manipulate her. I didn’t take anything from her. And I won’t apologize for honoring what she wanted.”
