Chapter 4 - One More Lie at My Table
"Di!" Colleen answered on the second ring, bright as a bell. "I was literally just thinking about you. Everything okay, sweetie?"
I made my voice small and sad. I even let it wobble.
"Colleen, can you come over? I need to talk to you. About Greg."
The tiniest pause. Then a breath that sounded a lot like relief.
"Oh, honey. I'm working from home — let me take an early lunch. I'll grab pastries. Twenty minutes."
I set the phone face down on the quilt.
Twenty minutes. Plenty of time to start a pot of coffee.
Twenty minutes later, she was on my porch, practically lit up from inside, holding a white bakery box.
"Diane, I'm so glad you called. I've been worried sick about you."
I let her sit. I poured her coffee. I let her start rattling off divorce attorneys like she was reading me the lunch specials.
"And honestly, Di, we don't need men. It can just be the two of us."
I slid my phone across the table. The video played. Her own face. Purple satin. My bathroom mirror.
Her cup stopped halfway to her mouth.
"Diane. I can explain."
"Please. Explain."
And she broke, right there at my dining table. Not the movie villain I'd built up in my head all morning. Just my sister, with mascara sliding down to her jaw.
"After the divorce, I couldn't stand it. Your life still worked. Mine fell apart. I thought if you were on your own too, we'd have each other back."
"So you tried to blow up my marriage because you were lonely."
"I told myself I was helping you."
Greg picked that exact moment to walk in with grocery bags. He took in the phone, Colleen crying into her hands, and set the gallon of milk down very slowly.
"Okay. Somebody's gonna have to start at the beginning."
I almost laughed. God bless that man.
I told him everything. He looked at Colleen for a long, long moment.
"Colleen. Go home."
She went. No fight left in her.
A few days later, I told her the truth: she needed a therapist, not a roommate. And the spare key wasn't hers anymore. I meant every word of it.
That weekend, I folded laundry next to Greg and told him I was sorry for ever doubting him. He bumped my shoulder with his and said, "I'd have doubted me too."
Tyler wandered through, spotted a bra on the folding pile, and groaned from the bottom of his soul.
"Can we please, as a family, never discuss underwear in this house again?"
May you like
We laughed until our sides hurt.
Twenty years taught me one thing worth keeping. Sometimes the person planting the doubt is the one standing closest to you — and trust isn't just a feeling. It's a choice you make out loud.
