PART 3 — The Cost of Being “Family”
Two days later, Selene showed up at my house.
Pale.
Unraveling.
For the first time, she didn’t look angry.
She looked uncertain.
“Rowan,” she said quickly, “we need to talk.”
I stood on the porch.
Elara was inside, drawing again for the first time since the incident.
I didn’t invite Selene in.
She noticed.
“Whatever you think I did, you’re blowing this out of proportion. I was stressed. You know what I’m going through.”
I nodded slowly.
“I do.”
“So fix this,” she said.
That made me exhale once.
“Fix it?”
“Yes. Whatever you did with my accounts, my school payments—undo it.”
I looked at her for a long moment.
Then I asked:
“When Elara said no… did you hear her?”
Selene blinked.
“What?”
“She said no,” I repeated. “Did you hear her?”
“I told you—she was being difficult—”
“She is eight.”
The silence that followed was different.
Heavier.
I stepped down one stair.
“I paid for your life,” I said. “Every month. Every crisis. Every time you said you couldn’t breathe, I gave you air.”
Selene swallowed.
“You’re my brother.”
“No,” I corrected. “I was your safety net.”
My voice stayed even.
“And you used it like it was infinite.”
Her face tightened.
“You’re choosing her over family.”
I nodded once.
“No,” I said. “I’m choosing my daughter over negligence.”
Something cracked in her expression.
Not guilt.
Fear.
May you like
Because she finally understood this wasn’t a disagreement.
It was consequence.
