Chapter 10
Corisande and I finally spoke alone.
No parents.
No cousins.
No employees.
She still wore the ring.
Barely.
“I thought you would listen once you saw Jonah.”
“Maybe.”
“You never listen when your father is criticized.”
That hurt because it contained truth.
Reginald had been dead eight years.
I defended him reflexively.
Not because he was always right.
Because grief fossilized him.
Corisande knew that.
Ambrose exploited it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She stared at the ring.
“Because Father said you’d shut the door.”
“You believed him.”
“Yes.”
“More than me.”
Silence.
That was the wound.
Then I asked about Mother.
Corisande’s face collapsed.
“I panicked.”
“You put her hearing aids in champagne.”
“I know.”
“You told her she was better off deaf.”
“I know.”
“You shoved Tessara when she tried to help.”
Tears.
“I know.”
Fear explained none of those choices away.
She had wanted silence.
So she targeted hearing.
Then the person restoring it.
Specific cruelty.
“What happens to us?”
She whispered.
I looked at the ring.
“I don’t know yet.”
She removed it.
Placed it on the table.
Not dramatic.
Just honest.
“Then you shouldn’t have to look at this while deciding.”
May you like
Good.
One intelligent choice after several terrible ones.
