I looked down at the livestream.
Then back at her.
“The camera didn’t humiliate you.” I held up the screen. “It recorded you.”
Those were not the same thing.
She looked around the room.
“Eli.”
He didn’t answer.
“Eli.”
He finally met her eyes.
“What?”
“Tell your wife to stop this.”
“My wife isn’t doing anything.” His voice was calm. “You are.”
She frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you insulted her.”
“I criticized her.”
“You humiliated her.”
“I was helping.”
“You called her a bad wife.”
“I called her…”
She stopped, because she’d realized no version of that sentence sounded better.
Don’t miss
Eli stood.
For the first time all afternoon, he walked away from the couch.
Away from his mother.
He stopped beside me.
“Ivy.”
I didn’t look at him.
“I’m sorry.”
I stayed quiet.
He nodded once.
“I know that’s not enough.”
“It isn’t.”
He took a slow breath.
“I should’ve stopped this years ago. Instead, I let you carry everything alone.”
That one landed because it was true.
He turned toward the room.
“I owe all of you an apology, too.”
Several relatives looked confused.
“I’ve let this become normal.”
He looked at the sink visible through the kitchen doorway.
The serving platters, the stack of glasses, the overflowing trash.
“I’ve watched Ivy do everything while the rest of us enjoyed ourselves.”
Nobody argued.
“That ends today.”
He grabbed a trash bag and started assigning jobs. For the first time, everyone cleaned instead of watching me do it alone.
Gladys looked horrified. “What are you all doing?”
Nobody answered.
Grandma Helen’s newest comment popped onto my screen.
“About time.”
I smiled for the first time all day.
Within 30 minutes, the counters were clear, the dishwasher was running, the folding tables were put away, and the backyard looked normal again.
The game had long ended, but no one seemed interested in talking about it anymore.
Before leaving, people stopped by.
One aunt hugged me tightly.
“I’m sorry I never spoke up.”
“It wasn’t your job.”
She smiled sadly.
“I know, but I wish I had.”
Several more apologized for staying silent. For the first time, I believed they meant it.
Gladys was the last person standing by the front door.
