Chapter 10 - The Empty Chair at New Year's
My mother didn't speak to my father for three days.
He told me later that she slept in the guest room, cooked separate meals, and acted as though he had committed some terrible betrayal.
All because he refused to let Lauren move back in without addressing what happened.
I wanted to feel victorious.
Instead, I felt sad.
My parents had been married for thirty-eight years.
I used to think their marriage worked because they rarely argued.
Now I wondered how many arguments Dad had avoided by surrendering before they began.
On New Year's Eve, Mom sent a group message.
Family lunch is still happening on Sunday. I hope everyone can put this behind us and remember what really matters.
I replied with one sentence.
We won't attend if Lauren is there.
Mom answered immediately.
I refuse to exclude my own daughter.
I stared at the screen.
Then I wrote:
You're free to invite her. We're free not to come.
That should have ended the conversation.
It didn't.
My phone rang six times that evening.
Aunt Carol thought we should compromise.
A cousin suggested we all meet without the children.
Another relative offered to host a prayer circle.
It was astonishing how much energy people were willing to spend arranging a reconciliation nobody had earned.
Finally, I turned my phone off.
James was sitting on the floor assembling a new play gym for Emma.
He looked up.
"Everything okay?"
"Everybody thinks we're ruining the family."
He tightened a screw.
"Are we?"
I stared at him.
He smiled slightly.
"I know the answer. I'm asking if you do."
I looked at Emma, who was aggressively chewing a plastic star.
"No."
"Then come help me figure out why this thing has thirty-seven pieces."
I sat down beside him.
For the next hour, we built the world's most complicated baby toy.
We laughed.
We ordered pizza.
At midnight, James kissed me while Emma slept peacefully in her crib.
It was the least glamorous New Year's Eve of my adult life.
It was also one of the happiest.
Sunday came.
We stayed home.
Around two that afternoon, my father called.
"Lauren didn't come," he said.
I sat up.
"Why not?"
"Your mother invited her. I told Lauren directly that I wasn't comfortable having her here while she continued denying what happened. She said she wouldn't sit at a table where she was being judged."
"What did Mom do?"
"She canceled lunch."
I looked toward James.
He was folding laundry.
"So nobody went?"
"Peter stopped by. We had coffee."
Dad paused.
"Your mother cried most of the afternoon."
I felt a familiar stab of guilt.
Then I remembered Emma's face after the slap.
"I'm sorry she's hurting," I said. "But that doesn't change anything."
"I know."
A long silence followed.
Then Dad said, "Sarah, I need to tell you something else."
I closed my eyes.
"What now?"
"Your mother has been telling people she's afraid we'll lose Lauren forever."
I looked out the window.
"Maybe Lauren should've thought about that before she hit a baby."
"That's what I told her."
I nearly dropped the phone.
Dad continued.
"Then your mother said something I've been thinking about all day."
"What?"
May you like
He sighed.
"She said if we admit Lauren was abusive, we'd have to admit we raised her to think this was normal."
