He didn’t.
Camille’s humiliation quickly turned into anger.
“You must be enjoying this.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
I glanced toward the photographs of Mom covering the shelves.
“I would rather have her standing here wearing that ring than be having this conversation at all.”
Camille had no answer.
After a moment, she shoved the jewelry box into Ethan’s hands.
“This family is unbelievable.”
She started toward the door.
Ethan finally spoke.
“You lied about Mom.”
Camille stopped.
Then she turned.
“Don’t suddenly act innocent. You knew how much I wanted that ring, and you never really told me I was wrong.”
Ethan flinched.
She wasn’t entirely wrong.
“I should have,” he admitted.
“For months you let me talk about it.”
“I know.”
“And now you’re standing there judging me?”
“I’m not judging you. I’m saying I should have stopped this before it got this far.”
Camille stared at him.
Then she walked out and slammed the door behind her.
Nobody followed.
Ethan stood in the middle of the living room holding Mom’s letter.
Eventually, he looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
I said nothing.
“I mean it, Claire.”
“You knew she was lying.”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
“And you stayed quiet.”
“I didn’t want another fight.”
I gave a bitter laugh.
“So everyone else had to tolerate it because confrontation made you uncomfortable?”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I guess so.”
Later, after everyone had gone home, Ethan and I sat together on the couch.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Finally, he looked at Mom’s letter.
“I’ve been doing that for years.”
“Doing what?”
“Avoiding everything.”
He rubbed his face.
“Whenever Camille upset someone, I tried to smooth it over. Whenever Mom complained about something she’d said, I told Mom to ignore it. Whenever you got angry, I asked you to be the bigger person.”
“Because it was easier than confronting Camille.”
He nodded.
“Our marriage hasn’t been good for a long time. We’d fight, then pretend it never happened. I thought avoiding conflict was keeping us together.”
