Robert rubbed his face with both hands like he was trying to wake himself from a nightmare.
“She realized Dad had been lying to her for years. Not about small things. About his entire life. About who he was. About what he’d been doing behind her back.”
“You’re being vague on purpose,” I snapped, frustration and fear making me sharp. “Stop talking in riddles and just tell me.”
He looked at me then, really looked at me, and I saw something in his eyes that terrified me. Pity. Sadness. The look you give someone right before you destroy their world.
“Do you remember how Laura suddenly moved closer to us when Mom got sick? She said she wanted to be nearby to help out.”
“Yes. Of course I remember. She moved here to support Mom during treatment.”
“And do you remember how Dad always insisted she stay? How she was always around, especially when Mom was having her worst days? How she’d show up with groceries or offer to sit with Mom while we ran errands?”
“Grief makes people cling to family,” I said, though my voice had lost all conviction. “It’s normal to want support from loved ones during a crisis.”
“Or it makes it easier to hide in plain sight,” Robert replied.
I shook my head violently. “No. If you’re implying what I think you’re implying—”
“I’m not implying anything. I’m telling you what Mom wrote. Dad had been having an affair for most of their marriage. And when she finally figured out who it was with…”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence. I felt dizzy, like the floor was tilting beneath me.
“Her sister,” I whispered. “Laura.”
“There’s more,” Robert said, and I almost screamed at him to stop talking. “There’s a child. Laura has a son. Everyone thought he belonged to her ex-boyfriend, remember? The guy she dated years ago?”
I did remember. Laura had a little boy named Michael. He was maybe four or five years old. She’d told everyone he was from a previous relationship that hadn’t worked out.
“What are you saying?”
Robert looked back at the wedding reception, at the celebration happening just fifty feet away, at our father who was probably smiling and shaking hands and basking in his new beginning.
“I’m saying that child is Dad’s son. I’m saying this wedding didn’t start after Mom died. It’s been going on for years.”
I opened my mouth but no sound came out. My brain couldn’t process the information. It was too big, too impossible, too horrific.
Robert pressed the envelope into my hands.
