Brielle’s eyes filled.
“She’s sick.”
I didn’t respond.
“She has cancer, Dad,” Taryn said softly. “It’s advanced.”
For years, I had imagined Colette in every possible version of a life that didn’t include us.
Happy.
Remarried.
Regretful.
Lonely.
Completely indifferent.
I had never imagined her dying.
“How long has she known?”
“A little over a year.”
“And you visited her without telling me.”
Brielle straightened.
“We’re eighteen.”
“I know how old you are.”
My voice came out sharper than I intended, and she flinched.
I hated that immediately.
“I’m not angry that you went,” I said, forcing myself to slow down.
Neither girl looked convinced.
“I’m serious. You’re adults, and she’s your mother. You had every right to see her.”
“Then why do you look angry?” Taryn asked.
“Because you thought you had to hide it from me.”
The room went quiet.
