“I’m saving her health.”
Lily started crying then.
Mike looked at her, and for the first time, he didn’t have a quick answer.
“I’m saving her health.”
“I just wanted you to be your best,” he muttered.
“And look where it got us,” I replied. “Pack a bag.”
His jaw dropped. “Are you serious? You want me to leave? Over supplements?”
I looked at him. “Over the fact that you pushed our daughter into taking something dangerous, watched her get sicker, told her to hide it from me, and then kept insisting I was imagining things.”
He dragged a hand down his face. “You’re acting like I poisoned her.”
“No,” I said. “I’m acting like you stopped being someone I can trust.”
“You want me to leave? Over supplements?”
He left an hour later with a duffel bag and a face full of disbelief, like he still thought all of us would calm down and apologize for misunderstanding him.
The second the door shut, the house felt different.
Not fixed. Not safe all at once. But honest.
That afternoon, I called Lily’s coach.
I told him the truth, at least the part that was mine to tell. I said she was stepping back, that she needed time to recover, and that her health came first. I said there would be no discussion.
He still thought all of us would calm down and apologize.
He was quiet for a second, then said, “I agree. Keep me updated, please. In the worst-case scenario, there’s always next year.”
I smiled. “I’m glad you see it that way.”
