Father stared at me with wide eyes, seemingly oblivious to what he had done all those weeks ago. How could he not remember? How could none of them remember?

I rolled my eyes. "You really don't remember, do you? It was only a few weeks ago!"

"Izzy, your grandfather died when the ship sank, if anyone is to blame it's whoever didn't put enough lifeboats on the ship before it set sail," Mother said, trying to rationalise or distract me from the truth and what I already knew.

"Not that! I already know about that, I'm not stupid." I sighed, my anger getting the best of me since no one could see the truth. "Grandfather never would have gone on that ship if he hadn't convinced him to go! Grandfather said that he didn't want to go on the ship because he didn't trust it, but he went anyway because-"

"-Because I told him to," Father finished. "I convinced Father to go because I thought it was too good of an opportunity to be missed. That's what you mean."

"Finally, the penny drops! Grandfather would still be here if you had just accepted that he didn't want to go in the first place! He died because you pushed him to go where he didn't want to because you kept telling him about what a great opportunity it would be."

Father stood up and handed Uncle Matthew the ice that he had been keeping on my foot before pacing over the mantelpiece where Grandfather's portrait had been moved to. He stood in front of it and stared at it, not saying a word but just looking at the portrait in the silence that settled over the room.

A cold sensation touched my ankle and I looked down to see Uncle Matthew touching the ice pack to the bruise on my ankle. He looked up at me sheepishly, but the cold sensation from the ice brought me back to earth a little more. The anger bubbles still popped. Father hadn't even apologised for what he did, he just wandered off without even acknowledging that had been at fault.

He stood in front of the portrait with his arms folded over his chest before turning back to face me and slowly making his way back across the room. I watched him perch himself on the arm of the chair that I was sitting in, he nudged my hand a little before he sat down.

"So this is why you've been behaving the way you have? Because I convinced Grandfather to go to America?" he said.

"It wasn't just that! It was you ruining Grandfather's memorial because you would rather get into a fight with your estranged mother. It's you, not even mentioning Grandfather even though he only died two weeks ago! You just moved on and forgot about him! How was I supposed to feel? Was I supposed to just move on as you did and pretend that it never happened? That he didn't exist?"

"That's not-" he paused. "Why didn't you come and talk to us about it? We could have helped you."

"Talk to you? Every time I tried to do anything you almost tore my head off for it! Why do you think I didn't tell you that I hurt myself? Because I knew you would blame it on me as you have for everything else that's gone on recently. And I overheard you last night. I heard what you said about sending me away."

Father sighed. "I'm sorry if we made you feel like you couldn't talk to us. You never should have been made to feel like we didn't care, or that I didn't care enough. You should have been able to talk to me about all of it. It should never have gotten to the point that you felt as though you couldn't tell me about an injury."

He crouched down beside me. "As for the rest of it, I didn't mean to ruin the memorial and I wish I had known how you felt about it. The reason I haven't been mentioning your grandfather is because I didn't want to upset you, but I see now that that was a bad decision on my part and for that, I am sorry. Your mother and I discussed the prospect of sending you to boarding school for your own sake, but now I realise that the fault really rested with me. Really, Izzy, I am truly sorry that I made you feel like you couldn't trust or talk to me about what you were feeling and that I made you feel unwanted."

I looked at him, really looked at him for the first time in over a week. There were tears in his eyes and somehow he looked older like he had aged far faster than he should have in such a short space of time. He had dark circles under his eyes from a lack of sleep, something that I had struggled with too.

Father looked genuinely upset that I hadn't felt like I could talk to him.

He took my hand, which was still a little wrapped up in the fabric of the chair and squeezed it lightly. That was all it took for the emotion inside me to come spilling out in one big wave. The anger bubbles popped one after the other until, for a split second, I felt almost empty inside; I felt nothing. Then the wave came in.

It slammed against me over and over again, pulling me beneath the surface until it felt like I was drowning. The grief for Grandfather, the disappointment I felt in myself for thinking that Father had been to blame, all of it hit me at once. I had spent the past week trying to ignore the feelings with anger always rising to the top before I could stop it. All those buried emotions, all that pain, travelled in that one wave.

Father stood up a little from his crouching position and pulled me into a hug, allowing me to bury myself in his chest so I could keep my face hidden from everyone. I knew what they must have been thinking at the sight of me, at everything I had just said. To them, I must have looked like a mess, but they didn't say anything about it.

After a little while, and once I had hopefully expelled all the emotions I had been feeling, I pulled away from the hug and Father placed his hands on my shoulder.

"Right, let's get that ankle of yours wrapped up, it's going to annoy me if I don't do it now," he said, laughing a little.

"I'll get your medical bag for you," Mother said. She walked behind the chair and gave me a light kiss on the forehead when she passed.

"How did you trip on the stairs? That's something Florence would do," Oliver asked.

I wiped my eyes and nose on my hands since I didn't have a handkerchief. "I don't know, I stepped down and my ankle rolled."

"That's pretty common, actually. In my experience, it tends to be the shoes that are the problem; a lack of support around the ankle can sometimes lead to a person rolling it. We might need to invest in some better shoes for you, you've had those boots for a long time."

"Mine lasted longer," Mother said. She handed Father his medical bag.

"They really didn't, Rosie. We ended up getting yours repaired every few months," Uncle Matthew said. He handed her the wet cloth that had once contained the ice.

"But they weren't completely new."

"True enough, I suppose."

Father laughed and bent down beside my ankle, undoing his bag and rooting through it until he found a rolled-up bandage. I winced the moment he grabbed my foot to start wrapping the bandage around it but I tried not to think about it. Although the pain was still there, it had become a little easier to manage with my boot off but the slightest touch caused the pain to return in small waves.

I watched Father wrap the bandage around my ankle and foot until the entire thing had been covered in the cloth. The bandage made it almost impossible for me to move my ankle which would work in favour since it would limit the amount of pain I felt. Once my ankle had wrapped, Father slid over a small futon and gently put my foot on it to keep it elevated.

Aunt Charlotte and the others returned from the drawing-room a little while later, with the younger one completely oblivious to what had transpired. Anna looked to be on the verge of poking me in the foot before Uncle Zachariah gave her a small tap on her back to stop her. She grinned and skipped off to sit on the floor and try to steal John's glasses.

When everyone had reappeared and settled into the parlour, Mrs Smith appeared with a selection of foods which she placed on the table. Being unable to move from my chair, Mother put one of everything on the plate and then handed it to me with me offering a murmur of thanks. Florence had sat on the floor so there was to be no repeat of Sunday, which I was grateful for.

"What was that debate you mentioned earlier, Izzy?" Uncle Christopher asked, stuffing almost an entire triangle of sandwich into his mouth.

"Miss Reid set it on Monday. We're debating whether or not women should be allowed to vote," I said.

"What's your side?"

"I'm arguing for; Mildred is against."

"That'll be a good one for you, both the topic and the fact that you get to argue." Uncle Christopher laughed.

"She set it after I talked myself out of trouble for some sewing work, apparently I put up that good of an argument." I paused. "That and I've been thinking about what I want to do when I finish school."

"Oh really?" Father tilted his head at me. "What did you have in mind?"

"After speaking to Nancy, Evelyn's sister, I thought I would like to study law. I know I can't practice it, not yet anyway, but I like the idea of arguing for a living."

"And you have the best lawyer uncle in the world! If you need any help or have any questions, I'm your man," Uncle Christopher said.

"If you're set on it as an option, Izzy, we can definitely look into any studying avenues." Father paused. "As for this debate, if it is something that you really want to do, there might be some crutches in the house you can use. You'll need to be able to move around tomorrow anyway."

The conversation stopped. No one had mentioned the fact that we were due to move out of Grandfather's house the next day and Father saying it made it all too real. Part of me hoped that they would have let us stay for a little while longer, at least until I could walk again but I knew they would never allow it since they had been part of the problem. We would move out whether we wanted to or not.

Unless we could prove the will had been faked.

Unless we could prove Grandfather had never written it.

Unless...

There were too many uncertainties in my mind, too many things that didn't feel right but we couldn't prove and I wanted to do it. I wanted to prove that the will had been faked and that we didn't have to move out, but I didn't know how I could do that. After the conversation with Father, my mind had cleared considerably and all that mattered to me was finding out a way for us to stay behind, but I didn't think less than a day would be enough time.

I would need some breakthrough, a groundbreaking idea that would convince everyone that I was right, but how could I do that? To prove the will was fake I would need access to it, but the lawyer kept it all to himself and I had no way to see it for myself. Just because I didn't have the access I needed, didn't mean I couldn't at least try. I'd rather try and fail than never have tried at all.

"What's going through your head, Izzy?" Mother asked.

"Nothing much, I'm just really going to miss this house," I lied.

"Me too. I've had some really good memories here, some bad ones too, but I think the goodwill always outweigh the bad."

"I remember the first time I came to this house, Rosie swore because she cut her hand on a glass," Uncle James said.

Mother laughed. "That was the same day you said I could live with you."

"It's not going to be the same without this house," Father said.

"I'm going to miss the frogs," I said.

Father looked at me and laughed, but I could see the sadness in his eyes.

I had to do something to stop us from leaving.

~~~

A/N - And here we are! The penny has dropped and everything in Izzy's mind has come tumbling out! This was a fun chapter to write and I hope you enjoyed it!

I've worked out that if I do a double update at some point, we can have this story finished by Christmas! There are 8 chapters left which is surreal!

Questions! Did you expect any of what Izzy said? Are you glad she finally said it? What do you think will happen now?

Comment below!

First Published - November 11th, 2021