“Go ahead,” I said, unflinching. “Because after I’m done here, I’ll be having a long talk with him too. He’s forgotten what it means to be a parent, and he needs reminding.”

The room was silent except for the ticking of the kitchen clock, each second a testament to the stand-off. Monica glared at me, but I could see the uncertainty creeping in.

I turned away from her, heading toward what used to be Emma’s room, now a chaotic jumble of boxed memories and teenage dreams. I began gathering Emma’s belongings, not to move them out, but to reassure her that she was wanted, loved, and respected.