Still, I went.
I told myself it was the mature thing to do. The loving thing. The daughter thing. On the wedding day, surrounded by smiles, champagne, and soft music, I kept repeating the same lie in my head.
This is just grief. Just two broken people finding comfort.
Then Robert showed up late, eyes wild, jacket half on. He grabbed my arm.
“Claire. We need to talk. Now.”
Before I could ask what was wrong, he said the words that shattered everything.
“You don’t really know who Dad is.”
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