For a year, that chair had represented humiliation, dignity, and survival.
But the seat had never truly been the problem.
The problem was whether I believed I deserved a place.
I did.
And now, so did Claire.
I pulled the chair out.
“Sit here tonight,” I told her.
Her eyes widened.
“That’s your seat.”
“It is my table. I decide where everyone belongs.”
Claire sat slowly, covering her mouth as tears filled her eyes.
I took the chair beside her.
Before we began eating, Lily raised her glass of sparkling cider.
“To Grandma,” she announced.
I shook my head.
“To all of us.”
After dinner, Claire and I stood together washing dishes.
“Do you regret leaving that night?” she asked.
I looked toward the dining room, where my daughter had finally taken up the space she deserved.
“No,” I said. “I regret how long I waited.”
That Christmas, Brandon believed he had taken away my chair.
Instead, he gave me back my voice.
