Chapter 13 - The Letter Brandon Never Sent
Two weeks before classes began, Brandon asked to meet.
Priya advised against it.
Dana advised caution.
Nina advised bringing pepper spray, three witnesses, and possibly a priest.
I agreed to meet him in Leonard Pike’s office with both attorneys present.
Brandon arrived wearing a plain shirt instead of his usual athletic gear. He looked thinner. Older. The golden shine had worn off him, and underneath was someone I did not know yet.
He carried an envelope.
“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” he said before sitting.
“Good,” I said.
He nodded like he deserved that.
Then he slid the envelope across the table.
“What is it?”
“A letter. I wrote it before the deposition. I didn’t send it because I thought it would make you hate me more.”
I did not touch it.
He swallowed.
“You can read it later. Or never.”
Leonard watched quietly from his desk.
Brandon rubbed his palms against his jeans.
“I sold the laptop because I owed eight hundred dollars. Then I owed more because I borrowed to cover it. Then Dad found out, and instead of making me fix it, he told me you had always been selfish about money anyway.”
I looked at him.
“You believed him?”
“I wanted to.”
That honesty hurt more than denial.
“Why?”
“Because if he was wrong about you, then maybe he was wrong about me too.” Brandon’s eyes filled. “And I didn’t know who I was without being the one he loved.”
The room went still.
For a moment, we were not enemies.
We were two children standing on opposite sides of the same ruined house.
“You think he loved you?” I asked quietly.
Brandon looked down.
“I think he liked winning through me.”
That was probably the truest thing he had ever said.
He continued. “I turned over the truck.”
I blinked. “What?”
“To the trustee. My lawyer said it may count toward restitution. It’s not enough. I know that. But it’s something.”
I stared at him.
The truck had been Brandon’s crown.
He washed it more carefully than Mom washed heirloom dishes.
“You gave it up?”
He nodded.
“I also got a job.”
I almost laughed, but stopped.
He deserved many things.
Mockery was not useful.
“Doing what?”
“Warehouse night shift.”
The irony was not lost on either of us.
I had cleaned offices at night to pay for an education he helped steal.
Now he was working nights to repay a debt.
“Good,” I said.
He nodded again.
“I’m going to pay you back.”
“You’ll never repay everything.”
“I know.”
“Money is the smallest part.”
“I know that too.”
Silence stretched.
Then Brandon said, “Grandma came to my last basketball game.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“Senior year. You were working. Mom and Dad were there, obviously. Grandma came alone. She sat near the back. Afterward, she told me I played well, but then she asked why you weren’t there. I said you were probably being dramatic about work.”
His face tightened.
“She looked so disappointed in me.”
My throat hurt.
“She loved you too,” I said.
“I know.” His voice broke. “That makes it worse.”
For the first time, I saw him grieve her.
Not as a symbol.
Not as money.
As Grandma.
He stood to leave, then paused.
“Ava?”
“What?”
“When you get to Ellison for real, don’t look back at us too much.”
I held his gaze.
“I don’t plan to.”
He smiled faintly.
“Good.”
After he left, I opened the letter.
It was messy.
Full of crossed-out lines and stains where tears had warped the ink.
The first sentence said:
I used to think being chosen meant I had won, but now I think it means Dad used me to help erase you.
I folded the letter carefully.
I did not forgive him that day.
But I stopped needing him to be only a villain.
May you like
That was not for him.
It was for me.
