He remained silent.
I stepped closer.
“Dad.”
His shoulders sagged.
“Years ago, I did some accounting work for one of the Thornton companies.”
I blinked.
“You never told me that.”
“It wasn’t important.”
“It seems important now.”
“It was temporary. Contract work. I barely knew anyone.”
“Did you know Ethan?”
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
Too immediate.
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“You lost your business. We lost the house. Mom spent the last year of her life worrying about bills. And now the same family you once worked for suddenly offers to erase every debt if I marry their unconscious heir.”
My father turned.
“The
offer came through an attorney.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
For several seconds, we looked at each other.
I loved my father. That was what made his lies so painful.
When I was a child, he had taught me to ride a bicycle by running beside me until he tripped over the curb. He had built blanket forts in the living room and burned pancakes every Sunday morning. After my mother became ill, he had slept in hospital chairs and learned the names of every medication she took.
But grief had changed him.
Or perhaps it had only revealed the parts of him I had refused to see.
“Go home,” I said.
His expression hardened.
“This is not your home.”
“No,” I replied. “But you made sure I couldn’t return to mine.”
He flinched.
I opened the door.
For one moment, I thought he might
finally tell me the truth.
Instead, he stepped into the hallway.
“Be careful what you believe in this house.”
I almost laughed.
“Right now, I don’t believe anyone.”
After he left, I sat on the edge of the enormous bed and stared at my wedding ring.
It was simple compared with everything else at the estate. A narrow band of platinum with a small row of diamonds.
Beautiful.
Cold.
Permanent.
A soft sound came from across the hall.
I stood.
Ethan’s bedroom door was partially open.
The medical team had finished their tests an hour earlier, and the corridor had been quiet since then.
