Chapter 5 - The Broken Doll
Three days before the wedding, Chloe came to the restaurant alone.
It was two in the afternoon, during the dead space between lunch and dinner service. The dining room was quiet, filled with the soft clink of cutlery as Hannah polished wine glasses.
Chloe sat in the corner booth, clutching a venti iced latte. She wore an oversized designer trench coat that looked too large for her thin frame. Without her fiancé and parents flanking her, she looked strikingly like the seventeen-year-old girl who used to cry on the edge of my bed when our father screamed at her about her grades.
I brought over a small plate of warm gougères—savory French cheese puffs—and set them on the table.
“Eat,” I said, sliding into the booth across from her. “You look like you haven't slept in a week.”
Chloe didn't touch the food. She stared down at the table, her knuckles white around the plastic cup.
“Mom said you were threatening Dad,” she whispered.
I let out a soft sigh, studying her pale face. “Is that what she told you?”
“She said you hired a monster of a lawyer. That you’re trying to ruin my wedding because you're still bitter about thirteen years ago.” Chloe looked up, her eyes rimmed with red. “Why can't you just let us be happy, Veronica? Bradley’s family is giving us everything. A house. A car. Security. All you have to do is share a piece of this place. You have enough!”
“Chloe,” I said gently, cutting through her panic. “Do you love Bradley?”
The question caught her completely off guard. She froze, her lips parting slightly.
“What kind of question is that?” she stammered. “Of course I do. He’s... he’s successful. He’s stable.”
“Does he love you?”
She didn't answer. A single tear broke free and rolled down her cheek, leaving a faint gray trail through her expensive foundation.
“Bradley’s father doesn't care about you, Chloe,” I said softly. “And Bradley does whatever his father tells him to do. Do you know what Dad promised Douglas Vance?”
“He... he said Douglas was investing in the family,” she mumbled.
“Dad told Douglas that *this restaurant* is your dowry. He told Douglas that by marrying you, Vance Development gets control of this city parcel without having to pay market value. Dad is trading you like a sack of grain to pay off his debts.”
Chloe pulled her trench coat tighter around herself, as if trying to shield her body from an incoming blow.
“Dad owes two hundred thousand dollars to private lenders,” I continued, watching her closely. “He took out a second mortgage on Grandma’s old property and lost it in bad crypto investments. If this marriage doesn't close with commercial assets attached, Douglas Vance will drop you both by next month, and the debt collectors will take whatever furniture Dad and Mom have left.”
“Stop it,” Chloe whimpered, burying her face in her hands. “Stop it, Veronica, please!”
“Look at me, Chloe.”
She shook her head, her shoulders heaving with muffled sobs.
“Look at me,” I insisted, reaching across the table and pulling her hands away from her face.
She looked up, shattered and terrified.
“Thirteen years ago, Dad threw me out into the street because I wouldn't let him bleed me dry to fix your mistakes,” I told her, my voice unwavering. “I hated you for years. I thought you were sitting in that house laughing at me while I scrubbed pans until my fingers split open in the winter cold.”
“I didn't know!” Chloe cried out, her voice cracking across the empty dining room. “He told me you hated us! He told me you took all your money and ran away to Chicago with a boyfriend because you didn't want to be associated with our family! I thought you abandoned me!”
The air in my chest turned to lead.
*He told her I abandoned her.*
For thirteen years, my father had maintained a wall of lies, painting me as a selfish, ungrateful runaway to ensure Chloe would never pick up the phone, never reach out, never discover that her college tuition was paid for by the emotional destruction of her older sister.
“I didn't abandon you, Chloe,” I said, my voice softening. “I sent letters. Three of them. To the Dublin house.”
Chloe’s eyes widened. “I never saw them.”
“Because Dad burned them,” I said. “Just like he burned every piece of truth that didn't serve his ego.”
Chloe slumped against the booth cushions, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The illusion she had built her life upon was fracturing, piece by fragile piece.
“What am I going to do?” she whispered, trembling. “The wedding is in three days. All of Douglas’s friends are coming. If I cancel, Dad will kill himself. He told Mom he’d rather die than be humiliated in front of the Columbus country club.”
“You aren't going to cancel,” I said, leaning forward.
She looked at me, bewildered. “I’m not?”
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“No,” I replied with an icy clarity that surprised even myself. “You’re going to walk down that aisle. You’re going to wear your white dress. You’re going to let Dad think he won. And then, Chloe, you are going to make a choice: you can either go down with his sinking ship, or you can watch me sink it for him and step onto the shore.”
***
