They Cut Down My Tree for Her Box, I Cut Myself Out of Their Family Chapter 07

They Cut Down My Tree for Her Box, I Cut Myself Out of Their Family Chapter 07

The next few days, Zane was out early and home late, searching for me.

He went to my old workplace, introducing himself as my brother.

A coworker who’d attended my wedding looked at him strangely. “You’re Willa’s brother? That doesn’t make sense-I didn’t see you at her wedding. Are you really her family?”

He felt like someone had him by the throat. He couldn’t say a word.

Finally, she sent him a wedding video.

As he walked away, she muttered, “Some brother-didn’t even know about his sister’s wedding. Who’d believe that? What kind of life is Willa living?”

His back stiffened. He remembered the day before I left-everyone blaming me, and him pinning me down, accusing me of tearing the family apart.

All I’d wanted was my own things back.

He went home and showed them the video. Mom’s tears fell again.

“Where did that child go?”

Dad’s eyes were red too. “Go find her. A living person doesn’t just vanish! Zane, make two more camphor chests. Give them to Willa when she comes back.”

Zane clenched his fists and nodded hard.

Two weeks into Switzerland, I received an interview invitation from a finance company.

When I came home that afternoon, streamers flew in my face.

Joy popped up, “Ta-da! Congratulations to Willa on the job offer!”

My mother-in-law smiled. “I cooked a feast. Congratulations, Willa.”

“But I haven’t even been accepted yet.”

Cole took my bag. “It’s only a matter of time. I know my wife’s skills. Come eat!”

Joy complained, “Willa, look at Mom-she made chili with zero heat! How is that even chili?”

Mom patted her. “Today’s for Willa. She can’t eat spicy. Mom will make yours tonight, okay?”

Joy was satisfied, linking arms with me. “That’s more like it!”

And she did make it that night. She’s a great cook, and she knows everyone’s preferences. Here, we eat what we like; no one person’s tastes dictate the menu, and no one says “let them have it.” Sometimes we argue, but an hour later, it’s like nothing happened.

Life in Switzerland is ordinary-but this is what home should feel like.

I’d been here less than a month, and my waist felt fuller.

That night, I turned on my old phone.

Countless messages. Dozens of missed calls-from Mom, Dad, Zane, Nora.

Mom’s

messages went on for pages.

Mom: [Willa! Where are you? Are you not getting married anymore? You’re making a scene over a

few thousand for your sister? When did you get so selfish?]

The messages kept coming every day, but slowly, the accusations stopped.

Mom: [Willa, Mom saw your report. When you come back, Mom will make your favorites.]

She couldn’t name anything-she had no idea what I liked.

The latest was from last night.

Mom: [Can you please just call Mom back? Mom wants to apologize. Please?]

I stared at that message for a long time.

My mother had never apologized to me. She was never wrong. But with Nora, her favorite line was “Okay, it’s Mom’s fault.”

Now, I felt not a flicker of hope. A late apology-I didn’t want it.