The doorbell rings before anyone can respond to me. Mom pushes her chair back, looking grateful for the distraction. “That’ll be the neighbors.”
But it’s not. From the hallway, I hear a familiar voice.
Nick.
When he steps into the dining room, he’s as immaculate as ever. A perfectly tailored coat, polished shoes, a bottle of Pinot cradled in one hand like a peace offering. Outside, the wind rattles the porch lights, and for a second, the whole house holds its breath.
“You said he wouldn’t be here,” I mutter to Mom.
“I didn’t invite him,” she claims. “He just…”
“Showed up to mark my territory,” Nick cuts in, tone sharp enough to cut. His gaze finds Edie and the hand I still have on hers. “Couldn’t let you have Christmas without a fight, right?”
“Nick, please,” Mom starts.
“No, Mom.” He sets the bottle down hard enough to make it rattle. “My sister’s sitting here with my ex, treating her like a damn trophy.” His gaze flutters to Edie’s throat, to the bruises that peek above her sweater collar. “Real classy, Wren.”
“Realconsensual,” I shoot back, standing. The chair legs scrape the hardwood. “Something you never seemed to grasp, given how you tried to control every breath she took.”
“I tried to help her—”
“You tried tochangeher,” I snap. “You tried to make her small enough that you didn’t have to look at yourself.”
He laughs, bitter. “At least I didn’t screw her in our parents’ bathroom like an animal.”
“Nicholas!” Mom gasps.
“At least I didn’t tell her she was fat,” I fire back. “At least I didn’t make her feel like she had to earn her place by starving.”
Color floods his face. “I never—”
“Yes, you did.” Edie stands now, stepping closer to me. “Every time you suggested I skip dessert or bought me clothes a size too small as ‘motivation.’ You said I’d thank you later.”
“I was trying to help you be your best self—”
“Iammy best self.” Her voice doesn’t shake. “Right now, with her.” She looks at my parents, aware of what we’ve been arguing about. “I’m sorry this makes you uncomfortable, and that it’s not what you pictured for your family. But I’m not sorry for choosing happiness.”
Nick folds his arms. “Even if that happiness is just revenge?”
“It’s not revenge,” Edie says. “Wren recognized something in me you never did.”
His sneer returns. “So you spread your legs for her after three days?”
The sound of Edie’s slap echoes through the room, sharp and satisfying. Nick reels back, hand on his cheek, eyes wide with shock.
“You don’t get to shame me,” she says, her voice rattling like she’s finally found a way to control the pressure building up inside of her. “Not after the way you made me feel.”
I reach for her hand, threading our fingers together. “We’re leaving.”
“Wren, wait,” Mom pleads. “Please. It’s Christmas.”
“It’s Christmas, and you let him walk in here knowing what he’d do,” I say. “Youalwayslet him do it.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s the truth.” I look between them. Mom’s pinched face, Dad’s constant disappointment. “Nick’s the golden child. Always has been. And me? I’m the mistake you keep trying to fix.” I shake my head. “Well, guess what? This mistake is happy. Finally. With someone who loves me for who I am, not who she wishes I’d become.”
Nick scoffs, his cheek already pink from Edie’s hand. “She loves you? After three days?”
