“No. Absolutely not. I’m not paying over six thousand dollars because my sister is being petty.”
Maren’s expression hardened. “Your sister did not sign this agreement.”
“My sister is doing this because she wants to punish me.”
I stepped closer.
“For what?”
Eden’s eyes flashed.
“For Pop. For the will. For everything.”
There it was, finally. Not the anniversary. Not the tent. Not the party. The wound underneath all of it.
I looked at my sister standing in Pop’s driveway, surrounded by strangers she had pulled into her version of reality. For a second, I saw us as children again, barefoot on this same gravel, Eden crying because Pop gave me the first turn in the rowboat and me feeling guilty enough to climb back out.
I had climbed out for her so many times.
This time, I stayed where I was.
“Pop made his choice,” I said quietly. “You don’t get to punish me because you didn’t like it.”
Her face crumpled, but anger rushed in before sadness could show.
“You always act like you’re better because you stayed,” she said.
“No. You act like showing up twice a year should count the same as taking care of something every week.”
The guests were fully gathered now, hovering near their cars, pretending not to listen and absolutely listening. A woman in a floral dress whispered to her husband. Another stared at Eden with sympathy that looked dangerously close to pity.
That was what broke her.
Not my refusal.
Not the contract.
The audience.
Eden had built a life around looking composed. Successful. Loved. Admired. This was not just a canceled party. This was a public correction.
Her voice rose, then cracked.
“I just wanted one weekend,” she said. “One nice weekend where people saw us the way they’re supposed to.”
Brett looked at her then, and something passed over his face that made me feel sad despite everything.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
She wiped under one eye quickly, furious at the tears.
“It means Brett’s deals have been slow. It means everyone thinks we’re doing amazing and we’re not. It means I wanted one thing to look easy.”
The lake went quiet behind her, or maybe I only noticed it then.
Maren lowered the clipboard slightly.
Colleen touched my elbow, not to stop me, just to remind me I was not alone.
I did not gloat. I want that understood. It would have been easy to. Eden had lied, pushed, manipulated, and walked into a trap of her own making. But watching my sister stand there with her perfect hair and shaking hands, unraveling in front of the very people she had hoped to impress, did not feel like victory.
It felt like grief wearing a different dress.
“Eden,” I said, “you could have called me.”
“I did.”
“No. You announced. That’s not the same thing.”