“Dad, I’m not inviting her because she deserves it. I’m inviting her because I don’t want her absence to control another important day of my life.”
I swallowed.
“And what happens if she hurts you?”
Chloe reached across the table and took my hand.
“Then I’ll deal with it. But I’m not thirteen anymore.”
She paused.
“There’s something else I want to do.”
I knew what she meant before she said it.
“The box,” I whispered.
She nodded.
“No.”
“Dad—”
“No, Chloe. Absolutely not.”
“You know what’s in there.”
“Exactly.”
“Then you know why it matters.”
I stood and walked to the window.
That box had become part of a past I rarely allowed myself to examine. I had spent fifteen years trying to build a future for my daughters. The last thing I wanted was to turn Chloe’s wedding into a public trial of their mother.
“People will talk,” I said.
