Clara had helped me preserve the records long after I wanted to delete them.
There were screenshots of blocked calls, postal receipts, emails returned by family accounts, and messages sent through relatives.
I showed them the dates.
The week Sarah died.
The month I returned to school.
Graduation morning.
The day before my wedding.
I had written the same sentence again and again.
Please let me explain.
My father scrolled through the messages in silence.
At the bottom was the final email I had sent before giving up.
I cannot keep proving myself to people committed to misunderstanding me.
I love you, but I will not beg forever.
My mother began to sob.
Julian looked toward the wall.
My father asked him one last time.
“Did you know Arthur was still in medical school?”
Julian remained silent.
“Answer me.”
“Yes,” Julian said.
The word was barely audible.
My mother gripped the back of a chair.
My father’s face became still.
“Did you know the leave was approved?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell us he had been expelled?”
Julian closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
My mother made a sound I had never heard before, somewhere between a gasp and a cry.
“Why?”
Julian opened his eyes and looked directly at me.
“Because everything was always about him.”
No one spoke.
“He got into medical school, and suddenly I disappeared,” Julian continued.
“Every dinner was Arthur’s exams.
Arthur’s future.
Arthur saving lives.
Then he walked away from school for Sarah, and you still called him brave.
I was the one who stayed close to you.
I was the one who did everything right.
But somehow he was still the good son.”
“So you destroyed his relationship with us,” my father said.
“I told you one thing,” Julian replied.
“You were the ones who cut him off.”
That was cruel, but it was also true.
Julian had lit the match.
My parents had chosen to pour the fuel.
My father sank back onto the sofa.
My mother looked at me as though she expected me to deny that part for her.
I did not.
“He lied,” I said.
“But you refused to open an envelope.
You returned proof because believing him was easier than listening to me.”
My mother wiped her face.
“We were angry.”
