Then Melissa said something none of us expected.
“We’re going to therapy,” she said firmly. “All of us. Or we stop pretending this family is functioning.”
And somehow… we actually went.
The therapist never raised her voice.
She didn’t need to.
Her questions cut deeper than shouting ever could.
She asked my mother when financial help started feeling like ownership.
She asked my father why silence had become easier than confrontation.
She asked me when I first learned my feelings mattered less in this family.
And she asked Melissa why she thought staying neutral was the same thing as being fair.
Nobody had answers immediately.
At the very end of the session, the therapist turned toward my mother.
“What would you say to Camila if she were sitting here right now?”
My mother’s lips trembled.
“I’d tell her I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But I know sorry isn’t enough anymore.”
The Second Lavender Dress
Two days later, I opened my front door and found a garment bag sitting quietly on the porch.
Inside was another lavender dress.
Not identical.
But beautiful.
Soft lace sleeves.
Satin ribbon.
Tiny pearl details.
Carefully chosen.
There was a handwritten note tucked inside.
“This time, nobody touches it except you.
I’m sorry, sweetheart.
