She opened the journal to a page marked with a yellow ribbon.
“This is my aunt’s diary,” my daughter announced to the entire room. “She left it in my bedroom when she stayed at our house two years ago to help take care of us while Mom was sick. I found it last week when I was looking for my old coloring books.”
My ex-husband took a step forward, his voice tight and nervous. “Amelia, sweetheart, that’s enough. Step down now. We can talk about this at home—”
“No, Dad,” my daughter interrupted, her voice firm. “You told Mom she was an idiot on the phone. I heard you that day too. You thought I was wearing my headphones, but I wasn’t.”
A collective gasp echoed across the room. Several relatives shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward my ex-husband, who looked as if he had just been hit by a freight train.
