Chapter 4 - The Blame Game
By sunrise the next morning, my phone was ringing incessantly.
I had already turned off notifications for the family group chat, but the voicemail inbox was filling up with frantic, breathless messages.
*“Claire, pick up the damn phone!”* Arthur’s voice was ragged, sounding twenty years older. *“The bank called. Sterling’s team didn't just pull out; they issued a formal notice of dispute. Our line of credit is frozen. Your mother is having heart palpitations! You need to call Richard Sterling and tell him you forgave us! Tell him it was a misunderstanding!”*
Click.
Next message: Eleanor, weeping uncontrollably. *“Claire, Brooke is on suicide watch in her apartment. Nathan packed three suitcases last night and moved into a hotel downtown. He’s talking about an annulment. An annulment, Claire! She’s been married for four weeks! How could you do this to your sister? You always resented her because she was pretty and popular!”*
I deleted both messages without a second thought.
At seven-thirty, I walked into the kitchen. The morning sunlight was streaming across our modest oak table. Ruby was sitting in her favorite corner, humming softly while she arranged her colored markers in perfect spectrum order: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet.
Owen was pouring milk into two bowls of cereal. He looked up at me with dark circles under his eyes.
“Are they going to lose their house, Mom?” he asked quietly.
I poured myself a cup of black coffee and sat down next to him. “Grandpa and Grandma made very bad business choices, Owen. They spent money they didn't have, betting on a deal that wasn't finalized. Whatever happens to their company is their responsibility. Not ours. And certainly not Ruby’s.”
“Good,” Owen muttered, stabbing his spoon into his cereal. “Aunt Brooke was mean to Ruby. She’s always mean. Whenever Ruby makes noise, Brooke rolls her eyes. I’m glad Uncle Nathan left her.”
“Owen,” I cautioned softly, “divorce is a sad thing. Even when people make terrible mistakes, pain isn’t something we celebrate.”
“I know,” Owen murmured. “I just… I hate seeing Ruby cry.”
Before I could answer, the doorbell began ringing frantically, followed by violent, rhythmic pounding on the front wood panel.
*Bang! Bang! Bang!*
“Claire! Open the door! Claire, I know you’re in there!”
Brooke.
I stood up instantly. “Owen, take Ruby into the sunroom. Put on her noise-canceling headphones and start the tablet. Do not let her come out.”
“Got it,” Owen said, his instincts razor-sharp. He took his sister’s hand. “Come on, Rube. Let’s watch the animal documentary.”
Ruby didn't protest. She grabbed her blue sensory headphones and followed her brother down the hallway.
I walked to the front door, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled it open just enough to block the entryway.
Brooke looked completely unhinged. The manicured, photogenic Instagram bride was gone. Her hair was pulled back into a messy, greasy bun; her designer trench coat was wrinkled, and her eyes were swollen nearly shut from hours of crying.
“You have to fix this,” she rasped, shoving her foot into the doorframe before I could close it. “You have to call Nathan right now.”
“Get your foot out of my door, Brooke,” I said evenly.
“He blocked my number, Claire!” she screamed, her voice cracking into a raw shriek that caused our neighbor across the street to pause while retrieving his morning paper. “He blocked me! His lawyer called me at seven in the morning! They’re filing for an annulment based on fraud! Fraud! He says our entire marriage was founded on false pretenses because I concealed my character!”
“Was he wrong?” I asked coldly.
Brooke stared at me, her chest heaving. “How can you be so heartless? I am your sister! We grew up in the same house! So what if I didn't want Ruby at the wedding? It was MY day! Mine! Every girl dreams of her wedding day her whole life! Why should I have to share the spotlight with a child who might scream during my vows? Why does everything in this family always have to revolve around Ruby and her special needs?”
The poison in her voice was so raw, so putrid, that it sucked the breath right out of my lungs.
“Listen to yourself,” I whispered, stepping forward until I was inches from her face. “Ruby didn't ask to be born neurodivergent. She works harder every single day just to exist in this loud, confusing world than you have ever worked in your entire spoiled, pampered life. She loved you, Brooke. She had a picture of you on our fridge for two months. She thought you were a princess.”
Tears welled up in Brooke’s swollen eyes again, but they weren't tears of remorse. They were tears of self-pity.
“Mom and Dad are going to lose everything,” Brooke sobbed, clutching my coat sleeves. “The bank is going to take their house. Dad says he’ll have to sell the architecture firm for pennies. Nathan’s family has enough money to buy our whole neighborhood! Claire, just call Richard! Tell him it was a sister feud! Tell him you overreacted!”
I peeled her manicured fingers off my coat, one by one.
“I didn't overreact,” I said with terrifying calm. “I simply stopped protecting you from who you really are. Goodbye, Brooke.”
May you like
I stepped back and shut the heavy front door, turning the deadbolt with a solid, echoing click.
***
