“You let me believe you were him.”
“I panicked,” he said. “Then it got too far.”
“That’s not even the worst part,” I said. “Why my daughter?”
He looked at me.
“My dad kept an album of you. He never got over you. I grew up hearing about you more than hearing ‘I’m proud of you.’”
My stomach turned.
“I swiped right out of spite.”
He exhaled.
“But then I met her. And she wasn’t a symbol. She was Emily. I fell for her.”
“The revenge died. The lie didn’t.”
“I love her. That part is real.”
After the wedding, Emily ignored me.
So I went to the source.
I found Mark Sr. on Facebook.
We met.
I told him everything.
He went pale.
“I talked about you too much,” he said.
“That’s the problem,” I replied.
“You clung to the past. I avoided conflict. Your son avoided the truth. Now my daughter is stuck in the middle.”
“I want all three of you in the same room. No more secrets.”
A week later, I invited Emily and Mark Jr. for dinner.
Halfway through, there was a knock.
Mark Sr. stood there.
Three nearly identical faces sat around one table.
“My job is done,” I said. “You three need to talk.”
And I walked away.
From the kitchen, I heard everything—shock, anger, grief.
Then silence.
When I came back, Emily stood by the window.
“You knew,” she said.
“I knew my part. Not all of theirs.”
“Are you going to tell me what to do?”
I shook my head.
“No. I tried that. I almost lost you.”
“I’m your mom. I’m here.”
She nodded slowly.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“You don’t have to. Not tonight.”
