Chapter 4 - The Price of Taking Sides
By Thursday morning, a photograph of Brielle's damaged handbag had spread through the family.
Patrice had posted it on social media with a caption describing how her husband had destroyed her daughter's expensive birthday gift and demanded they leave home.
The photograph was real.
The damaged strap was real.
What the post barely mentioned was the graduation dress.
By lunchtime, Andre had received eleven messages.
Some relatives demanded that he apologize.
Others asked why he had lost control.
His brother Marcus called during Andre's lunch break.
“Man, what were you thinking?”
Andre stood outside the repair garage, staring at a row of parked service trucks.
“I wasn't thinking clearly.”
“Three thousand dollars, Andre.”
“I know.”
“Patrice says you threatened to throw her and Brielle onto the street.”
“I asked them to stay with Celia. I told them if they wouldn't, Nia and I would leave.”
Marcus was quiet.
“And why did this happen?”
Andre told him.
He described the dress, the scissors, Nia crying on the bedroom floor, and Patrice dismissing the damage as meaningless.
Marcus listened without interrupting.
When Andre finished, his brother exhaled.
“That's ugly.”
“It is.”
“But cutting the bag didn't make it better.”
“No,” Andre said. “It didn't.”
He appreciated that Marcus had said it plainly.
Andre had already spoken with a leather-repair specialist. The strap might be replaceable, depending on the damage and whether compatible materials were available.
He intended to cover the repair or otherwise compensate Brielle for the property he had destroyed.
That responsibility belonged to him.
But he refused to let it erase what had happened to Nia.
That afternoon, Patrice returned to collect more clothes.
Celia came with her.
Andre asked Nia whether she wanted to stay upstairs.
She did.
From her bedroom, she heard drawers opening, suitcases rolling, and the occasional sharp voice downstairs.
Patrice was angry.
“You embarrassed me in front of everyone.”
Andre stood near the kitchen counter.
“What happened to Nia embarrassed me too.”
“You're putting one child above another.”
“No. I'm finally recognizing that I've allowed one child to be mistreated.”
Celia looked between them.
“Andre, nobody thinks cutting up that dress was acceptable.”
Patrice turned.
“Brielle made a stupid mistake.”
Andre shook his head.
“A mistake is spilling coffee on a dress. She picked up scissors and kept cutting while Nia begged her to stop.”
Patrice looked away.
“And you stood there and told Nia to calm down,” he continued.
“I was trying to prevent a screaming match!”
“By making the person being hurt stay quiet.”
Celia said nothing.
Patrice pulled a suitcase toward the door.
“Do you expect me to apologize for loving my daughter?”
“No.”
Andre stepped aside to let her pass.
“I expect you to understand that loving Brielle doesn't require making Nia feel less important.”
Patrice stopped.
For an instant, her expression softened.
“Andre, we've built a marriage together.”
“I know.”
“Are you really willing to lose that over a dress?”
He looked at her carefully.
“This isn't about a dress anymore.”
Patrice's expression hardened again.
“You're going to regret choosing her over us.”
Andre's voice stayed level.
“She was never supposed to be competing with you.”
Celia took the second suitcase outside.
Patrice followed without another word.
After they left, Andre called a family-law attorney for advice about separation and their living arrangements.
He knew he couldn't erase the marriage with an angry command.
He also knew that returning to the way things had been would be easier for everyone except Nia.
Upstairs, Nia sat at her desk.
Her new blue gown hung against the closet door.
She had been looking forward to graduation for months.
Now she dreaded walking into a room where people might know about the handbag, the dress, and the fight.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Celia.
Sweetheart, everyone is hurting. Maybe you could talk to Patrice before Saturday. Your dad's marriage is at stake.
Nia stared at the words.
She liked Celia.
Celia had always been kind to her.
But once again, someone was asking her to make herself smaller so the adults could feel comfortable.
She typed three different replies.
Deleted all of them.
Then she wrote:
I didn't cut my dress. I didn't cut the handbag. I didn't make the adults fight. I just wanted to go to graduation.
She sent it before she could change her mind.
A minute later, another message appeared.
This one was from Brielle.
Mom says we're all going to the formal together Saturday. She thinks a family picture will help everyone move on.
Nia read the message twice.
Then she looked at the blue gown hanging beside the closet.
May you like
She had spent years being asked to keep the peace.
For the first time, she wondered what would happen if she simply refused.
