He Chose my Cousin, so I Chose Revenge
“It survived, and so did you.”
Claudia smiled, her voice quiet but firm. “Every stitch is proof.”
I continued, moving piece by piece, explaining the meaning behind colors, textures, and lines. Each story I told felt like a release. Each explanation drew nods, smiles, and quiet murmurs of understanding. My mother occasionally interjected with questions or comments, her voice soft but present. She was finally here, and we were finally together without the shadows of past favoritism.
The cousin shifted again, her eyes following the garments as I explained. She still said nothing, but her presence was less tense now. It was acknowledgment without words, and I accepted it.
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