“You called me dramatic,” I said. “You told me I was too young to understand. You watched her use me like staff for your wedding. You watched me get hurt, and then you let her keep insulting me.”
“I didn’t hear—”
“You heard enough.”
He looked down.
For once, he didn’t argue.
“Did you lie about Mom’s accident?” I asked.
The blood left his face.
There it was.
The answer before the answer.
“Chloe.”
“Did you?”
His lips parted.
“I didn’t know until after.”
“After what?”
“After the funeral.”
Grandma’s breath sharpened behind me.
Dad swallowed.
“Valerie told me she had been there. She said she’d followed Sarah because Sarah had called her, hysterical. She said Sarah was threatening to destroy all of us.”
“Destroy you how?”
His eyes flickered.
“The trust.”
I waited.
“And the affair.”
There it was.
Ugly and small.
“Valerie said Sarah swerved on her own,” Dad whispered. “She said she panicked and left because she thought no one would believe her.”
“And you believed her?”
“I wanted to.”
I stared at him.
He had finally said something true.
Not noble.
Not excusable.
True.
“You wanted to,” I repeated.
He nodded.
“I had already lost your mother. I couldn’t face that I might have—”
“Helped kill her?”
He recoiled.
“I didn’t kill Sarah.”
“No. You just protected the woman who may have caused the crash.”
He began to cry.
I thought it would make me feel powerful.
It didn’t.
It made me tired.
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope.
“I canceled the wedding.”
Grandma said, “Did you?”
Dad’s eyes shifted.
Grandma caught it immediately.
“You didn’t cancel it.”
“I told Valerie we needed to postpone.”
“That is not canceled.”
“She’s threatening me.”
I almost smiled.
Of course she was.
“With what?” Grandma asked.
Dad looked at me.
“Everything.”
Grandma crossed her arms.
“Be specific.”
Dad took a breath.
“She has copies of messages. Photos. Proof of the affair before Sarah died. She says if I leave her, she’ll tell the police I knew she was at the crash scene from the beginning.”
Grandma said, “Did you?”
Dad didn’t answer fast enough.
I closed my eyes.
“Get out.”
“Chloe—”
“Get out.”
“I’m trying to make this right.”
“No. You’re trying to make yourself look less wrong.”
He stood frozen.
Grandma opened the front door.
Dad walked to it like an old man.
At the threshold, he turned.
“I love you.”
I looked at him for a long time.
Then I said, “Mom loved me better.”
He left.
Grandma shut the door.
I expected the house to feel quieter.