He looked up, searching my face.
“I should’ve told you,” he said. “I just… didn’t want to lose you.”
I sat there, silent.
Not angry. Not crying.
Just hollow.
Then I stood, walked past him without a word, and headed up the stairs.
To Carly’s room.
Carly was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling like it held answers she couldn’t reach.
Her eyes were red and puffy, the kind of swollen that only comes from crying hard and trying not to make a sound.
I knocked lightly.
“Can I come in?”
She sat up fast, wiping at her face with both hands. “Yes.”
I walked in slowly and sat down beside her.
The bed creaked under my weight.
I folded my hands in my lap and looked at her — really looked at her.
This girl who turned my life upside down in a matter of days.
“I know everything now,” I said.
She flinched, like the truth still stung.
Her shoulders sank as she looked away.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I didn’t mean to come between you and your husband.”
I reached over and gently took her hand. It was cold and soft, like she was still unsure I wouldn’t pull away.
“You didn’t,” I said.
“You’re not the problem.
You’re his daughter. That means… you’re part of this family now.”
Her lips trembled. “I thought you hated me.”
I shook my head.
“No. I was scared. That’s not the same.”
A single tear rolled down her cheek.
“I’ve never had a real family before,” she said, voice barely there.
I pulled her into a hug.
Her body leaned into mine like she hadn’t been hugged in years. Like she needed it more than words.
“You do now,” I whispered into her hair. “You’re home.”
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