“I know!”
Her voice cracked.
“Do you think I don't know what happened?”
“Then what are you asking me to say?”
She swallowed.
“That we were arguing. That I got upset. That I didn't understand the situation.”
“You can tell investigators what you understood.”
“I already did.”
“Then there isn't anything for me to change.”
Bram stepped forward again.
“That's not good enough.”
I looked at him.
“Excuse me?”
“You're the commander. People listen to you. You can tell them to drop this.”
“No.”
He stared at me.
“Why not?”
“Because that isn't how an investigation works.”
“Oh, come on. Don't give me that.”
“Bram, I don't control NCIS. I don't decide whether charges are filed. And I won't alter my statement.”
Delphine began crying.
At first, the tears came silently.
Then she pressed both hands over her face.
“I could lose everything,” she whispered.
I felt the old instinct rise immediately.
Comfort her.
Fix it.
Say something that would make the room peaceful again.
I'd spent childhood afternoons doing exactly that after Delphine broke something, insulted someone, or turned a minor disagreement into a household crisis.
When she was upset, everyone else was expected to reorganize themselves around her feelings.
I took a breath.
“Delphine, I'm sorry you're frightened.”
She looked up hopefully.
“But I can't protect you from the consequences of this.”
Her face changed.
The tears stopped almost instantly.
“You can't,” she repeated.
“No.”
“Or you won't?”
I held her gaze.
“I won't lie for you.”
Bram made a disgusted sound.
“Unbelievable.”
Delphine stepped closer.
“You know what your problem is, Marlo? You've always loved making people feel small.”
I almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the accusation was so painfully familiar.
“You really believe that?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Then tell me one thing.”
She crossed her arms.
“What?”
“When have I ever tried to humiliate you?”
She opened her mouth.
I waited.
“When have I ever gone to your workplace and insulted you in front of your coworkers?”
No answer.
“When have I ever destroyed something you needed for your job?”
She looked away.
“When have I ever asked someone to punish you because I was angry?”
“That's different.”
“How?”
“Because you always act like you're better than everybody.”
I nodded slowly.
There it was.
The foundation beneath everything.
My achievements weren't achievements.
They were insults.
My independence wasn't independence.
It was abandonment.
My refusal to argue wasn't restraint.
It was arrogance.
And apparently, simply existing in a place where I had authority was enough to make Delphine feel attacked.
“Delphine,” I said, “I have spent nineteen years trying not to make you uncomfortable with my life.”
She stared at me.
“I stopped talking about deployments at family gatherings because you called it bragging. I stopped discussing promotions because you said I was showing off. At Mom's funeral, I walked outside rather than argue when you criticized my uniform.”
Her lips tightened.
“I remember.”
“I know you do. But do you remember what I said before I left?”
She frowned.
“No.”
“I said, 'I'm sorry I upset you.'”
Bram shifted uncomfortably.
I continued.
“I apologized to you for wearing the uniform Mom had seen me in every time I came home on leave.”
Delphine looked down.
“I didn't ask you to apologize.”
“No. You just made sure I knew you thought I'd done something wrong.”
She was silent.
I felt my throat tighten, but I kept my voice steady.
“I was so afraid of losing what little family I had left that I kept giving you pieces of myself to keep you happy. And every time I did, you wanted another piece.”
Delphine's eyes lifted.
For once, she didn't interrupt.
“I love you,” I said. “You're my sister. That hasn't changed.”
She began to cry again.
“But love doesn't give you permission to hurt me. And being family doesn't mean I have to help you pretend it didn't happen.”
Bram put his hand on her shoulder.
“This is pointless,” he muttered.
I looked at him.
“I'm going to ask you both to leave.”
He gave me a hard stare.
“You're really going to abandon your sister over a bag?”
The question struck me with such force that I went completely still.
A bag.
That was what he believed this was about.
Not nineteen years of contempt.
Not the repeated humiliation.
Not the damage.
Not the threat to government information.
Just a bag.
I looked at Delphine.
“Is that what you told him?”
She didn't answer.
“Delphine?”
Her silence was answer enough.
Bram glanced between us.
“What?”
I stepped back slightly.
“Your wife threw a bag containing government equipment and sensitive inspection materials into the Elizabeth River after I explicitly warned her not to.”
Bram stared.
“What kind of materials?”
“I can't discuss the contents with you.”
He turned to Delphine.
“You said it was her purse.”
“It looked like a purse!”
“You told me she was trying to get you fired.”
“She was standing there in her uniform, making everybody look at her!”
Bram's face changed.
For the first time since I'd met him, he looked at Delphine as though he wasn't entirely certain he believed her.
I didn't enjoy it.
I'd imagined, at different points in my life, how satisfying it might feel to have someone finally recognize what she was doing.
But watching Bram's certainty collapse didn't feel triumphant.
It felt sad.
Because none of this had needed to happen.
I opened the door wider.
“You both need to go.”
Delphine stared at me.
“Marlo—”
“No more tonight.”
She looked as though she wanted to say something important.
Then Bram took her elbow.
“Come on.”
They walked away without another word.
I closed the door.
Locked it.
And stood there for a long time.
Then I sat on the edge of my bed and cried.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just the exhausted tears of someone who'd spent years holding together a relationship that had never been equally important to both people.
The next morning, I gave my formal statement.
