Chapter 2 - The Box
Back in my kitchen, Nora sat across from me.
"I can tell her no," I said. "This is your wedding."
"Tell her she's welcome."
My stomach sank. "Nora."
"She's not coming for you, Dad. She's coming to perform."
"I know that."
"Then why let her?"
She studied me for a long moment. "Because you spent fifteen years protecting us from the truth. I think it's time the truth protected you instead."
I went still. "You know what I'm asking for," she said.
"The box stays where it is."
"The box, Dad."
Inside were fifteen years of things I'd sent to Diane, every single one returned. Birthday invitations. School photos. Recital programs. Graduation notices. Printed emails. Returned envelopes. Cards the girls had made before they finally stopped asking whether Mom might come next time.
I hadn't kept it for revenge. I'd kept it because one day my daughters might ask whether I'd tried.
And I wanted to be able to say yes.
"That box is ugly," I said.
"What she did was ugly," Nora said. "The box is just proof."
"This is your wedding. Not a courtroom."
"She's the one putting you on trial, Dad. Not me."
I stood, gripping the back of a chair. "Let people think what they want, honey."
"No. You've spent your whole life being both parents to six kids. You don't need this extra weight on top of it."
Nora opened her folder and pulled out a printed message. "She wrote to me two weeks ago."
I took the page. Diane had told Nora I was bitter. That I'd made everything difficult for her. That I'd kept the girls close deliberately, to punish her.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I wanted to see what she was actually doing first."
"And now?"
"Now I know."
Marcus, Nora's fiancé, stepped into the kitchen with seating cards in hand and froze at the sight of our faces. "Bad time?"
"My mother texted my dad," Nora said.
He set the cards down. "She's coming?"
"With Grant," Nora said. "And I need the box."
I looked at him. "Don't get dragged into this."
"I'm marrying into this family in three days," he said. "I think the dragging already happened."
Nora touched my arm. "Please, Dad. Let me handle it."
"You don't know what that box is going to do."
"I know what her lie is already doing."
I looked at my daughter and still saw the little girl on the stairs — except she wasn't little anymore.
"What are you going to do with it?"
"Use it only if she lies."
"Then it stays closed until then."
May you like
That felt fair. The box had lived where it always had, tucked behind old papers and a blanket nobody used anymore. I pulled it down with both hands and carried it to the table.
"There," I said. "Fifteen years."
