Chapter 26 - Sisters in the Workshop
The timber workshop at the base of the Hayes property was Ethan’s sanctuary. Heated by a roaring cast-iron barrel stove, the space smelled richly of freshly planed cedar, linseed oil, and wood shavings.
Two days before the court hearing, Ethan was out back stacking dried cherry planks when he heard the rhythmic sound of hand-sanding from inside the workshop.
Peering through the side window, he saw Ivy and Coral working side by side at the main workbench. Ivy was holding a slab of raw-edge black walnut steady while Coral used a Japanese pull-saw to trim the rough bark.
There was no tension between them anymore. In the warmth of the workshop, away from the shadow of Marlene’s manipulations, they operated with the effortless rhythm of true sisters.
"Ivy," Coral said quietly, pausing the saw to brush sweat from her forehead. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure," Ivy replied, dipping a rag into a can of mineral oil.
"Why didn't you hate me?" Coral’s voice was barely louder than the hum of the heater fan. "When Mom locked you out of the living room on Christmas... I stayed inside. I opened my presents. I took the ski boots she bought me. I knew it was wrong, and I just... I stayed in the warm room while you were out in the cold. How can you even look at me?"
Ivy paused, the oil-soaked rag resting motionless in her hand. She looked down at the dark, polished grain of the walnut wood, her young face carrying an ancient, quiet wisdom.
"Because you were locked in, Coral," Ivy said softly.
Coral looked up, startled. "What do you mean?"
"Mom didn't just lock me out of the living room," Ivy explained, looking straight into Coral’s eyes. "She locked you inside with her. Being outside in the cold was horrible... but at least I had Dad. You were trapped in there with her lies, trying to make her happy, and she was never going to be happy anyway."
Ivy picked up a piece of fine sandpaper and handed it to Coral.
"Dad says people who build walls only do it because they’re terrified of what happens if they let anyone in," Ivy added with a gentle smile. "We don't build walls in this house. We build tables."
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Standing by the window, Ethan pressed his hand against the glass, his throat tight with tears. He had spent months worrying that the trauma of Marlene’s cruelty would permanently harden Ivy’s heart. But his daughter hadn't broken. She had transformed her pain into an indestructible well of compassion.
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