He Mistook My Sister For Me On Meetup Day Chapter 09

He Mistook My Sister For Me On Meetup Day Chapter 09

On the day the mediation ended, Iris signed the updated statement.

All eighty-four letters were restored to my name.

She had to return the advance on the book deal and cover part of the exhibition’s penalty fees.

My mother caught me in the hallway.

“Your sister knows she was wrong.”

“She hasn’t been eating or sleeping. Do you have to wait until she’s dead to be satisfied?”

I looked at her worn-out face.

Ever since we were kids, whenever Iris cried, my mother turned into this.

Anxious, heartbroken, reckless.

When I cried, all she ever said was:

“You’re the older one.”

“Be mature.”

“Don’t disappoint me.”

I asked her, “What about my seven years?”

My mother opened her mouth, then closed it.

“You didn’t really lose anything. Evan knows now, doesn’t he? And you got your letters back.”

So even now, she still thought everything could be put back together.

Like when I was little and she cut up my dress to make a doll for Iris, then tossed me the scraps and said, “See? You still have it, don’t you?”

“Just because she can’t handle losing what she stole, I’m supposed to be fine with having seven years taken from me?”

My mother’s face went stiff.

My father’s voice dropped. “Enough. This is family business, and you’ve already aired it to the whole world.”

“Come home. No one brings this up again.”

I reached into my bag, took out my house key, and placed it in his hand.

“I’ll take care of whatever I’m legally required to. Nothing else.”

For the first time, my father looked panicked.

“Lena, you’re cutting ties with your parents over a man?”

“It’s not about him.”

I looked at them.

“It’s because in your eyes, my whole life has always been something you could take apart and give to Iris.”

“I don’t want to be your easy daughter anymore.”

I turned and walked away.

Evan was waiting downstairs.

He was holding a cardboard box.

Inside were all eighty-four letters, the navy hardcover poetry collection, the exhibition originals, and every

little thing I’d ever sent him.

“I’m giving it all back,” he said. “Every piece.”

I took the box.

“Thanks.”

Pain flickered across his eyes.

I used to call him Stonehaven.

Later, when I said Evan, it still meant something.

Now it was just a polite thank you.

“Lena.”

He stepped in front of me. “Can we start over?”

“Not Tidecaller and Stonehaven.”

“Just Evan and Lena.”

I looked at him for a long time.

“You loved my words. You believed her face.”

“Now you’re chasing me because you finally know you made a mistake.”

“You want to make up for seven years of regret, fix your error, prove you didn’t love the wrong person.”

His breathing went uneven.

“No-I do love you. I really do.”

“But who do you love?” I asked.

“The Tidecaller who wrote to you? The Lena you hurt? Or the person who can make your guilt go away?”

He couldn’t answer.

I held the box tighter.

“Evan. None of those are me.”

“And I’m done waiting for you to figure it out.”