He sputtered. “This was cruel. Unnecessary. She couldn’t breathe. She barely slept.”
“And how many nights did I cry?” I asked. “How many mornings did I wake up sick to my stomach because of her? Did you ever ask me that?”
“That was high school,” he finally said weakly. “You’re supposed to let things go.”
“Funny,” I replied. “She never did.”
He tried to argue. To justify. To defend her.
So I ended the conversation.
“Oh,” I added casually before hanging up. “The whole thing was recorded. Just thought you should know.”
I never heard from Nancy again.
Not an apology. Not an explanation. Nothing.
And for the first time since childhood, I slept without replaying her voice in my head.
Sometimes, it comes from being heard at last.
