Valerie laughed.
A real laugh this time. Mean and bright.
“It means you don’t get to pretend this was all me.”
Dad said, “Shut up.”
Grandma’s eyes narrowed.
Valerie smiled at him.
“Oh, now you want me quiet?”
“Valerie.”
“No. Let’s tell them. Let’s tell your daughter why Sarah changed the trust.”
Dad took one step toward her.
“Don’t.”
Valerie’s smile widened.
“Because she found us together in her bed.”
My knees nearly gave out.
The room blurred.
I heard someone gasp.
Dad didn’t deny it.
That was the part that hurt worse than the words.
He didn’t deny it.
Grandma’s face went white, but not with surprise. With rage.
“She found you,” Grandma said slowly. “And three days later she came to my house with bruises on her wrist.”
Dad snapped, “I never hit her.”
“No,” Grandma said. “You grabbed her when she tried to leave.”
Valerie scoffed.
“Sarah was always dramatic.”
I moved before anyone could stop me.
With my broken wrist against my chest and my leg screaming, I took one step toward Valerie.
“You don’t get to say her name.”
Valerie looked me up and down.
“Or what?”
Grandma’s voice cut through the room.
“Or I call the police standing outside.”
Valerie froze.
Dad turned.