My sister quietly walked away.
I followed my mother into the living room.
My father was upstairs.
A nurse was with him.
I could hear faint movement above us.
I sat across from my mother.
The box rested on my knees.
“What happened that night?”
Her lips trembled.
“Which night?”
“The one you were talking about with Callum before my wedding.”
She looked down.
I almost laughed.
“Thirty years, Mom.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
My voice cracked.
“You got to stay here. You had Dad. You had my sister. I spent half my life wondering whether I had destroyed everything because I overheard one sentence.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
“I thought we were protecting you.”
“From what?”
She glanced at the box.
“Open it.”
My fingers would not cooperate at first.
The cardboard lid had softened with age.
Inside were my wedding shoes.
They were still wrapped in tissue paper.
Don’t miss
Under them was an envelope.
My name was written across the front.
I recognized my father’s handwriting.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
I stared at it.
Then I looked at my mother.
“I don’t understand.”
The photograph showed Callum at 19.
Beside him stood my father.
