Page 187 of Becoming Us

“I know this feels out of the blue, but I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a long time, Noh. After Dad…” She paused, clicking her tongue. “We were all we had left. And I just…took off. It wasn’t fair.”

“Lan, I didn’t expect you?—”

“That’s the problem,” she interrupted. “You never expected help from me. And that’s my fault.”

Her eyes were starting to redden. My chest tightened at the sight.

“You and I—we both knew what was going on, and we just chose to ignore it. But these scars”—she gestured loosely between us—“they’re never going to fade if we don’t talk about it. The mom scars.”

I swallowed, then gave her a small nod.

“It took me years to realize it wasn’t just me. That it was probably like that for you too. Not until you cut her off. And I didn’t understand just how bad it had been until the overdose.

“I felt relieved when you started modeling—the spotlight moved. I didn’t even register that it had just landed on you. And when I did, I lied to myself: you’re stronger, you’ll be fine. Then that fight happened.”

“Which one?”

“The one with the money.”

My heart clenched. Shame clung tight to that memory.

“Your face when I walked in—I knew it was serious. And I still didn’t do anything about it, aside from telling Dad, and?—”

“You what?”

She bit down on her lip. “He never took me seriously before. But that time, I told him how bad things could get with her. That it looked like that had really hurt you. I don’t know if it helped or if he actually listened, but… I thought it did.”

My mind raced, trying to recall that period of my life. Hehadlistened. That was when he started searching my room. When we hadthe talk.

“You two got a lot closer after that,” she continued. “When Dad got sick, it was like you built this little fortress around each other. And it helped him. I saw that. So I stepped back. I didn’t mind that he left you in charge. Honestly, I was grateful it wasn’t her deciding everything. And when he asked if I was okay with it, I told him I was.”

“He asked you? Before he did it?”

Ilana nodded. “He wanted to make sure it wouldn’t cause problems between us.”

“But it did, Lan.”

“Not because of you. I’m not proud of it, but seeing Dad sick—it was awful. I know it’s selfish, but you were there all the time. And if you were…then I could pretend it wasn’t really happening.

“It wasn’t a problem for me at all. I’ve never once resented you for it. And you’ve never let me down. Ever. When you cut Mom off, I knew you were the one who set up my trust. And I know it’s been you managing the investments. That’s why it keeps growing instead of trickling away. She doesn’t see any of that—but I’ve noticed. You’ve done a really good job.”

My eyes prickled. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be looking for anatta boy, but fuck, it felt good. To know that everything Dad taught me had stuck. That I wasn’t just a burden. That maybe, somehow, I was actually helping people.

“I meant what I said the other day, too, about Matias. The moment Dad got diagnosed, he and Diego circled like vultures—arguing over who got what, who’d stay in charge. You were the only one who didn’t give a fuck and were actually there for him. It’s never been about money for you. I wouldn’t have been able to handle it either—the excess. It was too much.”

I looked at her, heart thudding, finally ready to ask the question that had haunted me from the start. “Do you know why he did it?”

“He never told me, but I can guess it’s because of that,” she said. “You were the only one who could handle it. And also, I assume he wanted to protect us. So I guess he must have believed something about Mom in the long run.”

“Did he ever tell you…?” I hesitated, biting the inside of my cheek. “Did he say he knew he wasn’t going to make it?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t. But can you imagine? Telling your kids you’re going to die? I don’t know if I’d be strong enough to do that either. I think I’d rather live in the fantasy for as long as I could.”

My chest deflated, because yeah, that made sense. I’d told myself the same thing a thousand times, but I’d never really understood it until now. This hadn’t been about me. It was about him. Just a man trying to survive his final days, holding onto the idea that everything would be okay.

Maybe I wouldn’t have done the same. But I could respect it. I could forgive it. I could let it go.

The soft fizz of carbonation bubbled in my glass between us.