The sentence cut deep because it was true.
Amanda shouldn’t have had to be the catalyst.
But she was.
The next morning, my mother called—this time from a number I didn’t recognize.
“Will,” she said quietly. “It’s me.”
I swallowed. “Is he there?” I asked.
“No,” she replied. “He left early. Slammed doors. Threats. The usual.”
Her voice sounded different—tired, but also lighter. Like she’d put down something heavy she’d carried too long.
“My lawyer filed,” she said.
Filed.
I exhaled slowly. “Okay.”
“And Will?” she added, voice trembling. “He’s going to come after you.”
“I know,” I said.
She swallowed hard. “He’s furious you ‘embarrassed’ him,” she whispered. “He told Lisa you turned everyone against him.”
I almost laughed. Turned everyone against him. As if his own actions weren’t the reason nobody could defend him anymore.
“I didn’t turn anyone,” I said evenly. “I just stopped covering.”
My mother was quiet. Then she whispered, “I wish I had stopped years ago.”
“Me too,” I said honestly.
She exhaled shakily. “He’s going to try to get sympathy. He’ll say I’m unstable. He’ll say you’re manipulating me. He’ll say—”
“Let him,” I said softly. “We’re done living inside his story.”
Her voice broke. “Thank you,” she whispered.
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said the only honest thing.
