“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

As I worked, Monica hovered near the doorway, clearly torn between confronting me further and retreating. I ignored her, focused on the task at hand.

Finally, she huffed and disappeared down the hallway, her footsteps echoing in the hollow space that used to feel so full of life.