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But not today.

Not anymore.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Viv,” I say softly. “I did want him.”

She frowns in confusion.

“I thought I loved him,” I explain. “I wanted my husband to choose me. There’s nothing pathetic about that.”

I advance toward her, brandishing the photograph like a baton. “I wanted the Burberry coat, too. The one I saved four months for before Mom made me give it to you. I wanted the pastry program that I delayed so you could go skip class at Berkeley instead. I wanted Kellen Estrada.”

“Kellen Estrada? Are you fucking serious, Dee? Oh my God, that was literally high school⁠—”

“I’m not finished.” I keep moving forward until I’m toe to toe with her. “I wanted all of it. Every single time. I just learned really early that if I said so out loud, it would stop being mine. So I got very good at pretending I didn’t want anything.”

I let out a breath I’ve been holding for almost twenty years.

“I’m done pretending now.”

My sister looks at me like she’s never seen me before. She’s shrunken in some weird, non-physical way I can’t explain. Like her aura has diminished. The halo over her head has lost all its luster.

She’s still beautiful, and skinny, and confident. All the things I always wanted to be.

They just no longer intimidate me quite so much.

Finally, she says, “You’ve gotten so weird.”

“Yeah,” I agree with a laugh. “I think it’s long overdue.”

She turns and walks to the door. In the doorway, she stops and looks back.

But it isn’t at me.

It’s at Kane. One more check. One more flip of the switch.

He’s looking at me, and grinning.

Vivian rushes down the stairs. I hear her heels on the wood. The front door slams hard enough to shake the window.

I stand until the sound fades.

Then my knees give out.

I crumple to a seat on the floor in the middle of the room, legs folding awkwardly beneath me. My hands shake.

Winning is supposed to feel better than this. I have imagined saying no to Vivian in countless shower arguments. In those fantasies, refusing her makes me powerful. There may have been applause. Once, Ruth Bader Ginsburg appeared.

The real thing is awful.

I stare at the bare floor. “She’s never going to admit it,” I whisper. “Or say sorry.”

Kane comes away from the wall to stand over me.

“None of them will. Connor won’t. My mother won’t.” I press my palm to my sternum to calm my racing, aching heart. “I’m never getting anything from them that makes this make sense.”

“No. You aren’t.”

He lowers himself to the floor beside me. His suit pulls tight over his knees.