“And instead, he stood up at our wedding,” I say, “and decided to turn it into the moment.”
My father nods.
“He thought, if he forced it into the light, we would have no choice but to confirm it. He thought Claire deserved to know. He was right about that part. But the way he did it… he did not think about how it would tear through you.”
The edges of my vision blur.
Lucas’s strange toast. The way Claire shook. The way my mother couldn’t meet my eyes. It all re-arranges itself into a different picture.
The love triangle I thought I saw in that ballroom was never real.
Something else had been standing there with us all along: a hidden family line, drawn in silence.
The Cost of Dragging the Truth Out
When I walk back to Claire’s room, the beeping of the monitor sounds too loud. The nurse steps out, giving us space.
Claire is awake now, propped up against pillows. Her hair is messy, and her mascara has left faint lines under her eyes. She looks young and tired and strangely far away.
Lucas is in the chair beside her bed, his elbows on his knees, his hands folded like he is praying. His eyes snap up when I enter.
“Grace,” he says, rising to his feet. “Please. Let me talk to you.”
I look at Claire first.
“Did they tell you?” I ask her softly.
She nods.
“I heard Dad talking to the doctor in the hallway. Then Mom came in and just…started crying.” She swallows hard. “I don’t know what to feel. I feel like my life is a story someone else wrote, and I’m only now seeing the pages.”
I move to the foot of the bed and take a breath.
