Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 23

Betty sat tall, poised in her muted pink dress. The strands of her slight curls  catching the chandelier’s glare. She looked like she didn’t belong in this house of sharp edges and unsaid things.

My dad cleared his throat, set down his knife.

“Well,” he said, “I heard James is actually passing his classes. That must be your influence.”

I looked up at Betty.

She didn’t flinch, but I saw her darken. Just a flicker in her eyes, a shift in the air around her. She forced a polite smile, the kind that doesn’t reach the eyes.

“I just remind him when there’s a quiz,” she said flatly. “He does the work.”

A lie, and we both knew it. I owed more to her than reminders.

My mom didn’t say anything. She sat still, hands folded in her lap, gaze on her plate. As always, she was present but not there - neither hostile nor warm, like wallpaper in a room you never really look at. I wanted to say something, anything. I wanted to defend Betty, maybe myself, but the moment sat like a weight on my tongue. And Betty? She just kept her composure, like she had built a palace out of silence long before she ever sat at this table.

My dad picked up his wine glass. “James was a lost cause, really. At least until someone came along who didn’t coddle him like his mother does.”

That’s when I saw it—Betty’s fingers tighten around her fork. Just a second. Then she exhaled and let go. Still no words from her. That was her power. She didn’t give him the satisfaction. And me? I looked at her and thought: You deserve a thousand dinners with people who see you, not just the parts they benefit from. And maybe one day, I’ll become one of them. But not tonight. Tonight, all I could do was sit there and try not to let the sound of my dad’s voice undo the peace she was barely holding together.

Just as I was about to lift my fork again, my dad scoffed - loud, derisive.

“He actually thinks basketball would make me proud of him?”
He shook his head, half-laughing to himself like the idea was ridiculous. “He’ll never earn my respect bringing home cheap trophies and sweaty jerseys. So you are a really big help.”

The air in the room froze. I didn’t even look up.

Then - bang.

Betty’s fork and knife slammed against her plate, sharp and jarring. Everyone flinched. I looked at her, and for the first time tonight, she wasn’t composed. She was livid. Her whole body trembled with the kind of rage that comes from holding too much in for too long.

Her voice cut the silence like glass.
“With all due respect, sir…”

My dad blinked. She didn’t wait.

“Your son is one of the most amazing and hardworking people I know. He is kind, and good-hearted, and strong. He loves his friends. He’s supportive, he’s helpful, generous. He makes the dumbest jokes at lunch but still manages to make people feel seen. He never lets anyone eat alone. He loves music, he loves ice cream, the sea, late night getaways, and ...”

Her voice cracked slightly, but she didn’t back down.

“...and you know what he loves more than any of that? Basketball. He holds it close because it’s the only thing that still connects him to you. Back when you actually smiled at him. Back when you still gave a damn. And I’m sorry for being rude, but I won’t sit at a table where someone like him, someone so kindhearted, is belittled by his own father.”

She stood suddenly, the chair scraping against the floor.

“I’m done.”

Then she ran. I heard the front door creak, then slam. The whole house went silent.