Linda’s shoulders sagged. “We didn’t know it would go this far.”
“That’s the thing,” I said. “You never think it will go this far because you’re used to me backing down. You’re used to me bending, writing another check, swallowing another holiday alone so you don’t have to be uncomfortable. I’m done doing that.”
Walt asked them one last time to leave voluntarily. My father looked from Walt to Rachel to me, and underneath the calculation in his eyes I saw something I had not expected: age. He suddenly looked worn down by stubborn pride and bad decisions and the particular exhaustion of a man who has been wrong for a long time and is
beginning to feel the weight of it. “We’re not done,” he muttered. “No,” I said. “We’re not. But from now on, we deal with each other honestly and on equal footing.” They left. The rumble of their trucks faded into distance, and the quiet that replaced it did not feel like emptiness. It felt like a line drawn.
