As Jane spoke, I noticed how she avoided eye contact, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of her coffee cup. It was a rehearsed calm, one I recognized from family gatherings where everything had to appear perfect on the surface. “What kind of decisions?” I pressed, trying to keep my frustration in check.
“The estate isn’t as solvent as we thought,” she admitted. “I had to prioritize. I’m sorry it came to this.”
Prioritize? Her words felt like a cold slap. “So, you decided I was expendable?” I asked, the hurt seeping into my voice.
She looked away, focusing on the bustling street outside. “It’s not about that,” she said softly. “I had to think long-term.”
“And you couldn’t include me in this decision-making process?”
“I didn’t want to burden you,” Jane replied, finally looking back at me. “I thought it would be easier this way.”
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