For illustrative purposes only
I’d tell you what you needed to know.
I forced a smile because I wanted to believe her.
Because the alternative was unbearable.
That night I climbed the stairs to my childhood bedroom.
Sleep never came.
Around midnight I heard footsteps moving softly through the hallway.
Once.
Twice.
Again at nearly two in the morning.
I assumed Lydia was checking on my father.
Then I heard cabinet doors opening downstairs.
Water running.
More footsteps.
For someone who claimed nothing was wrong…
She barely slept.
I stared at the ceiling until dawn.
For the first time since Mom’s death, a thought entered my mind that I immediately hated.
They were hiding something.
I didn’t know what.
But I could feel it growing inside the house like a storm no one wanted to acknowledge.
A few mornings later, my father called my name.
“Honey?”
I found him standing in the kitchen beside the sink.
Lydia stood next to him.
Neither of them looked comfortable.
Before either of them spoke, I knew.
Whatever secret they’d been carrying had finally reached the surface.
“Sweetheart,” my father said gently. “Sit down.”
“I’d rather stand.”
He exchanged a quick glance with Lydia.
She offered me the careful smile I’d loved for nearly twenty years.
Now it made my stomach tighten.
“Honey…” she began. “Your dad and I have been talking…”
Silence filled the room.
Then my father finished the sentence.
“Lydia and I are getting married.”
The ceramic mug slipped from my fingers.
It shattered against the tile floor.
Coffee splashed across the cabinets.
No one moved.
For several seconds I couldn’t breathe.
“What…”
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