PART 2

For a few seconds, all I could hear was the quiet rhythm of Noah’s breathing against Aunt Beatrice’s shoulder.

My father’s words seemed to echo again inside the hospital room, but this time they sounded different.

Smaller.

Exposed.

Not because Richard had raised his voice or made a scene, but because he had simply let the truth stand where everyone could see it.

“You put him on speaker?” I whispered.

Richard pulled a chair closer to my bed.

Rainwater clung to his coat, leaving dark marks across the fabric, but he moved with the same careful calm I remembered from childhood, as if storms were ordinary things that could be crossed without complaint.

“I did,” he said.

“After he told me you were exaggerating, I asked him to repeat himself.”

Aunt Beatrice’s mouth tightened, though her hands stayed gentle around Noah.

“Whitney’s fiancé heard it,” she added softly.

“So did his parents.”

I closed my eyes.

Part of me wanted to feel satisfied.

Another part, the tired and bruised part, felt nothing but shame, as if my father’s cruelty still somehow belonged to me.

“I didn’t want a scene,” I said.