“I’m telling you exactly what Mom wrote,” he said. “Dad had been involved with someone else through much of their marriage. And when she finally pieced everything together… that person wasn’t a stranger.”
My head spun. “Her sister.”
“There’s more,” Robert cut in. “There’s a child—one everyone believed belonged to someone else.”
“What are you saying?”
Robert glanced back toward the reception. At the smiling guests. At our father.
“I’m saying,” he whispered, “this wedding didn’t begin after Mom died.”
I opened my mouth, but he raised a hand. “Not here. We need privacy. And time. Because once I tell you what’s in that letter…”
He pressed the envelope into my hand.
“…you’ll understand that Mom knew she was being betrayed while she was dying.”
Behind us, the music swelled.
Someone lit sparklers.
My hands began to tremble as I felt the weight of the paper—heavy with the truth that was about to shatter everything.
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