“He said it would make things easier for you,” Dad explained. “That you could get the other things without another fight.”
I stared at him.
“He tried to bargain with you using my belongings?”
“Yes.”
“And you refused?”
“Of course.”
I swallowed.
“What happened next?”
Dad’s jaw tightened.
“He said, ‘Then maybe nobody gets the mirror.’”
I felt as though someone had knocked the breath out of me.
Everything suddenly made sense.
Brian hadn’t fought for the mirror because he liked it.
He hadn’t wanted to sell it.
He hadn’t believed it belonged to him.
He wanted to take away something he knew I couldn’t replace.
And when the court ruled against him, he destroyed it.
Not because the mirror was worth $400.
But because it held memories no amount of money could buy.
I sat beside my father, unable to speak.
He rested one hand between my shoulders.
