Stephanie frowned.
“What was your mother doing with our parents?”
So I told them.
Not dramatically.
I didn’t need to.
I showed them the agreement.
The canceled checks.
The letters.
Linda’s note.
Frank’s letter.
By the time I finished, Stephanie had stopped moving.
Brad stared at the table.
Stephanie whispered, “Mom knew?”
“Yes.”
“And Dad knew who you were when he met you?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes moved toward me.
“Did you?”
“No.”
For once, she believed me immediately.
Brad picked up the original agreement.
“Thirty-two thousand?”
“In 1987.”
He ran a hand over his face.
“Dad never told us.”
“No.”
Stephanie looked pale.
“Why?”
I almost laughed.
“Apparently, your family had a habit of believing silence protected people.”
She flinched.
Good.
I didn’t say it to be kind.
Then Brad asked the question I had been expecting.
“So are you claiming the house?”
I stared at him.
“I’m sitting in a meeting where I have already been legally given part of it.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Do you think I’m going to sue you?”
He looked ashamed.
“I don’t know.”
That hurt.
Even after everything.
I closed the box.
“No.”
Stephanie stared at me.
“Why not?”
“Because your father didn’t owe me a childhood home.”
