“For telling me, repeatedly, that I was less than this family. For teaching everyone here that laughing at me was acceptable. For extending that lesson to my daughter.”
Wesley moved closer.
“Nora, I should have stopped it sooner.”
His words were quiet, but the room heard them.
Margaret turned on him.
“Do not start apologizing for being embarrassed by your wife’s dramatics.”
Wesley’s face reddened.
“I’m embarrassed by myself.”
That silenced her more completely than my refusal had.
He looked at me, and for a second I saw not the Pembroke heir, not the son trained to smooth over his mother’s moods, but the man who had held my hand through June’s delivery and cried when she first opened her eyes.
“I failed you both,” he said.
Something inside me ached, because I had wanted those words yesterday, before my father, before the attorney, before every cousin had to witness his awakening.
But late truth was still truth, and I did not know yet whether it could grow into repair.
Margaret recovered quickly.
“Wesley, you are tired.”
“I’m awake,” he said.
Charles looked from his son to his wife, then closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them, his voice was quieter.
“Margaret, apologize.”
The command was simple, but it carried years of things unsaid.
Margaret laughed once.
“You cannot be serious.”
