Piper came after me near the launch dock, barefoot now, holding up her dress with both hands.
“You are not doing this to me over one mistake,” she said.
I turned back slowly, Wren bundled carefully in my arms while a medic walked beside us.
“You pushed an eight-year-old child in anger,” I said. “Do not call that a mistake just because you dislike the consequences.”
Her face trembled. “I barely touched her.”
“Save that for the attorneys,” I replied.
My father stepped in then, blustering because bluster was all he had left. “This has gone far enough. You made your point. Take care of the kid and stop acting like some queen handing down orders.”
I looked at him, then at my mother, who already seemed to be calculating the best route back into my good graces.
“No,” I said. “What has gone far enough is a lifetime of watching you praise cruelty when it came dressed in charm, and excuse neglect when it came from family. Tonight is simply the first time you did it where I had the authority to stop it.”
My mother’s eyes filled, though whether from shame or inconvenience I could not tell. “We’re still your family.”
Wren stirred against my shoulder, and I adjusted the blanket around her with one hand.
“She is my family,” I said quietly. “The rest of you are a lesson I should have learned sooner.”
Then I stepped aboard the launch.
