“Please don’t say that right now.”
“But I do.”
“Then why did you keep making decisions for me?”
Tyler looked helplessly toward me.
I didn’t rescue him.
Instead, I asked, “Did you ever intend to tell her?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After Thanksgiving, maybe.”
Emma looked stunned.
“After I met your mother?”
“I thought if she got to know you first, she’d realize you weren’t responsible for what happened.”
“And you were going to let me meet her without knowing she already knew everything about my parents?”
“I thought it would be easier.”
“For whom?”
Tyler fell silent.
I recognized the pain in Emma’s voice.
When she was younger, she’d sometimes asked why her father hadn’t told me he was unhappy instead of having an affair.
I’d never had a satisfying answer.
Now she was confronting someone who also believed avoiding the truth would prevent pain.
“I need you to go home,” Emma said.
