Chapter 17 - The Siege of Moving Day
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For a long time, I believed the story of the house, the shoe, and the burgundy chair was completely over.
We settled into a peaceful routine. My restaurants were thriving, Clare was enjoying her maternity leave, and little Lily was growing fast.
My parents visited us every other weekend. The dynamic had shifted entirely.
Because they knew I was fully capable of cutting off access, they treated Clare with genuine respect.
They brought home-cooked meals, swept our kitchen floor, and never brought up the house on Brookfield Avenue.
However, Tessa remained completely silent.
She didn't come to Thanksgiving. She skipped Christmas.
My mother tried to play mediator, repeatedly asking me to reach out to my sister.
"She's struggling, Ian," Linda said one afternoon while holding Lily.
"Working commission at a furniture store is hard on her."
"She is an adult, Mom," I replied while making coffee.
"She made her choices."
"She misses having a home," Linda sighed.
"She feels like you erased her childhood."
"She threw a shoe at a pregnant woman because of a chair," I reminded her flatly.
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"She erased her own standing in this family."
Linda went quiet and didn't push the topic again. But deep down, I knew my sister was not the type of person to let a loss go quietly.
