Then my mother quietly reached over and placed her hand on mine under the table.
A small gesture.
But it grounded me.
Patrick exhaled sharply. “Fine. I’ll get it back.”
My father nodded once. “Good.”
But he didn’t smile.
Because this was never just about the car.
Dinner ended shortly after.
No laughter this time.
No illusion.
As we stood to leave, Patrick tried to speak to me in the hallway.
“Jenna, don’t make this bigger than it is.”
I looked at him—really looked at him.
At the man I had spent three years shrinking myself for.
“It already is,” I said quietly.
And then I walked past him.
For the first time in a long time—
I didn’t feel small.
I felt clear.
And whatever came next…
I knew one thing for certain:
This wasn’t the end of my humiliation.
It was the end of my silence.
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