“Stop saying you know!”
Emily flinched.
Daniel held up a hand.
“Noah.”
“No, Dad. She doesn’t get to cry now.”
Emily wiped her face.
“I didn’t plan to break it.”
“Oh, great.”
“I didn’t.”
“You just accidentally picked it up and smashed it into a table?”
“I was angry.”
“At what?”
Emily looked at him.
“At Mom.”
The answer stunned both Noah and Daniel.
Emily covered her mouth and began sobbing.
Daniel slowly pulled out the chair across from her.
“Why?”
Emily shook her head.
“Because she left.”
Daniel’s voice softened.
“She died, Em.”
“I know.”
“She didn’t leave you.”
“It feels like she did.”
The words came faster now.
“She got sick, and suddenly everything was about hospitals and medicine and appointments. Noah got to sit with her because he could play quietly. I hated going there. I hated how she looked. I hated the smell. I hated everybody whispering.”
Noah stared at his sister.
Emily continued.
“And then she died, and everyone acted like you were the strong one because you kept playing her songs. I couldn’t even listen to them.”
“You could have told me.”
“I didn’t know how.”
“So you broke it?”
“I tried to play it.”
Noah stopped.
Emily looked toward the laptop.
“I woke up early because I couldn’t sleep. I went downstairs. I saw the guitar and I thought maybe if I learned the song, maybe I’d understand why it made everyone feel better.”
Her voice cracked.
“But I couldn’t play it.”
“You never practiced.”
“I know.”
“I would have taught you.”
“I know.”
Noah looked away.
Emily whispered, “That made me angrier.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“At Noah?”
“At myself. At Mom. At everything.”
She wiped her face.
“I hit it against the table. I didn’t mean to break it that badly. The second it cracked, I wanted to take it back.”
“Then why did you lie?”
“Because I knew what it meant to you.”
“That should have made you tell me.”
“I was scared.”
“You weren’t scared when you called it stupid.”
Emily dropped her eyes.
“I wanted you to hate it for one second.”
Noah looked at her.
“What?”
“If you hated the guitar, maybe I wouldn’t feel like the only person who hated what it reminded me of.”
Noah’s anger did not disappear.
But it changed shape.
Daniel sat quietly between them.
After a long silence, he said, “Your mother’s death hurt both of you differently.”
Neither child responded.
“But grief is not permission to hurt each other.”
He looked at Emily.
“You destroyed something irreplaceable. Then you lied repeatedly.”
Emily nodded.
“You’re grounded. Car keys. Phone after school. No parties, no friends over, no discretionary spending until we decide otherwise.”
“I understand.”
“No. You don’t yet.”
Daniel’s voice remained steady.
“You are also going to pay for the repair.”
Emily looked up.
“Can it be repaired?”
Noah looked at his father too.
Daniel reached behind the kitchen island and placed a repair estimate on the table.
The number at the bottom was $1,480.
Emily swallowed.
“I don’t have that.”
“You have $630 in savings from your summer job.”
Her eyes widened.
“Dad.”
“You will use it.”
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
“What about college?”
“You destroyed someone else’s property.”
“It was Mom’s.”
“And then it became Noah’s.”