Chapter 5 - Seventeen Calls Before Breakfast
|
At 7:42 on Christmas morning, my phone showed seventeen missed calls from Daniel.
There were also five messages.
The first sounded almost apologetic.
Claire, please call me.
The second was impatient.
We need to talk before you upset everyone further.
The third was revealing.
Why did you tell Dad about the money?
I sat up.
Then I remembered what I'd done at six that morning.
Unable to sleep, I had written Walter a short email.
I hadn't insulted him.
I hadn't demanded an apology.
I had simply explained that for more than six years, the financial help he believed came from Daniel had actually come from my salary.
I attached copies of several bank transfers.
Then I told him that I would no longer provide that assistance.
I ended with one sentence.
I hope your family treats the next person who helps you with more kindness.
Apparently, Walter had opened the email.
Daniel called again.
This time, I answered.
“What did you do?” he demanded.
“Merry Christmas to you too.”
“Dad is furious!”
“About what?”
“You know exactly what.”
I looked toward the bed where Sophie was still sleeping.
“Is he furious that Rebecca hit me, or that you lied to him?”
Daniel exhaled sharply.
“Why would you embarrass me like this?”
That was the moment something inside me settled.
Not broke.
Settled.
“You watched your sister hit me. You asked me to apologize. Your father opened the door and told us to leave.”
“Claire—”
“And your mother said I ruined Christmas.”
“I was trying to keep things calm.”
“No. You were trying to protect yourself.”
There was silence.
Then Daniel lowered his voice.
“Dad wants you to come over and explain everything.”
I almost laughed.
“He can read the bank statements.”
“He thinks you're making me look weak.”
“Then perhaps you should tell him about your job.”
Daniel went quiet.
I heard movement behind him.
A chair scraping.
Then Walter's voice.
“Put her on speaker.”
My stomach tightened.
Daniel obeyed.
Walter spoke first.
“Did you really send that money every month?”
“Yes.”
“For six years?”
“Longer.”
He breathed out.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your son said you would rather believe a lie.”
The line went silent.
Then Walter asked a question I hadn't expected.
“Claire, where did Daniel get the money for my property taxes in October?”
I frowned.
“What property taxes?”
Walter hesitated.
“The fifty-one thousand dollars.”
I sat upright.
“Walter, I never gave Daniel fifty-one thousand dollars.”
Across the room, Sophie stirred.
May you like
And on the phone, I heard Daniel whisper:
“Dad, hang up.”
