Something inside me shifted. It wasn’t loud or sudden. But it was final.
“You know what?” I said softly.
“I’m done.”
He froze.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m done pretending this is okay. I’m done cleaning up after your messes. I’m done watching you and your mother twist everything into my fault.”
My voice shook, but I kept going.
I wasn’t just speaking to him anymore. I was speaking to the version of myself who had stayed quiet and kept the peace at the cost of her own. I owed her this.
Peter’s face twisted in disbelief.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“No,” I said. “I’m being honest. For the first time in a long time.”
He called me ungrateful.
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