“You’ve kept us away from her long enough.”
“I never stopped any of you from visiting.”
“You moved her into your house.”
“Because she was alone.”
Greg stepped closer.
“You seriously expect us to believe you’re doing all this out of kindness?”
I stayed silent.
His voice became louder.
“Five years without visiting doesn’t mean we stopped being family.”
Something inside me finally snapped.
“No. It means Susan spent five years learning exactly how little that word meant to you.”
The porch went quiet.
Laura looked away.
Then I heard a weak voice behind me.
“Sam.”
I turned.
Susan was standing in the hallway, one hand pressed against the wall for support.
“Susan, you shouldn’t be out of bed.”
She ignored me.
In her other hand was a bundle of old envelopes tied together with a faded blue ribbon.
Greg stared at them.
“What’s that?”
