My Family’s Suitcase Was Always Too Small for My Future Chapter 07

My Family’s Suitcase Was Always Too Small for My Future Chapter 07

Mom grabbed the phone.

“Why are you dragging all of this up now? Are you trying to tear this family apart?”

Tessa was crying.

“Maren, just stop. This is all because of me, isn’t it?”

Part of me wanted to scream. But a bigger part of me, the part that had been holding this in for years, just

felt lighter.

I’d finally said it out loud.

Exhaustion hit me like a wall. I hung up.

When I opened my eyes half an hour later, Wesley was back. He didn’t ask questions. Just set a takeout

container on the tray.

“Eat something.”

I studied his face for a moment.

“I know you. You work at the company next door.”

He smiled.

“Took you long enough. We’ve crossed paths at least five times, Miss Whitlock.”

I felt the heat in my cheeks and looked down at the food. Soup, mashed potatoes, nothing too heavy. The kind of food you brought someone who needed to heal.

After that, we started spending time together.

Wesley had been in Sierra Verde for three years. He knew the city inside and out.

On his days off, he’d come by and teach me Spanish. We’d catch movies, play tennis.

Sierra Verde was all sunshine, little cafés, and museums I could never run out of. Nothing like the life I’d left

behind.

I felt like I’d finally been let out of a cage, taking my first real breath and realizing the world was enormous.

I was learning, slowly, what it felt like to enjoy things.

Wesley was always a few steps behind, camera in hand, catching all of it.

In two months, he’d taken more photos of me than had ever existed from the first twenty-four years of my

life.

He lowered the camera and looked at me, brow furrowed.

“How come?”

I looked up at him.

“My family doesn’t really like me.”

Something shifted in his eyes.

I used to flinch when people looked at me like that. But now I could stand still and let someone feel sorry for

He pulled me close, gentle, like I was something that might break.

“I like you, Maren.”

I smiled and held on.

Grant called again.

Two months, and they’d been waiting for me to cave. The way I always had.

I never did.

“Mom’s been crying. Dad won’t talk. Does that mean anything to you?”

Still leading with blame. Even now.

I sighed.

“What do you want from me, Grant?”

His voice shifted. Softer. Unsure. Something I’d never heard from him.

“Do you hate us?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Then why’d you leave?”

“Because I resent you.”

Grant went quiet.

“I’m your sister too, Grant. Why was it always different for me?”

“Sometimes I wonder why I was even born.”

I smiled.

“But then Dad told that story, about how I almost killed her coming into this world. And it all made sense.”

My voice was steady. Like I was reading a verdict I’d already accepted.

Grant’s voice cracked.

“Don’t say that. You’re part of this family, Maren. Nobody hates you.”

He went quiet. When he spoke again, his voice sounded like it cost him something to say it.

“I used to carry you everywhere when you were little. I fed you your bottles. I spent my allowance on toys for

you.”

“But after Tessa came along, everything was about the baby. Mom and Dad set the tone, and I just…

followed.”

“I’m sorry. I forgot you were just a kid too.”

I didn’t say anything. What good was sorry twenty years too late?

Then, right before I hung up, Dad grabbed the phone.

“Maren…”

He sounded older. Smaller.

“Will you come home?”

“And do what?” I asked.