This is just grief. This is just two broken people finding comfort.
Then Robert walked in late, eyes wild, jacket half-on. He grabbed my arm.
“Claire. We need to talk. Right now.”
And before I could ask why, he said the sentence that cracked everything open.
“Dad isn’t who he pretends to be.”
I repeated that lie in my head.
***
Robert didn’t stop walking until we were almost outside. The music faded behind us. Laughter spilled through the open doors. Someone clinked a glass and cheered. It felt obscene.
“What is going on?” I hissed. “You missed the ceremony. You look like you ran here.”
“I almost didn’t come,” he said. His hand was shaking when he finally let go of my arm. “I was told not to.”
“Told by who?”
