Chapter 17 - Fiona’s Last Secret
Fiona looked physically ill.
“I was talking about family history.”
I believed her.
That did not make it harmless.
George had seen opportunity.
The original notebook.
The wedding.
Dad distracted.
Five hundred guests.
Security focused on the venue.
Fiona’s casual message became part of the plan.
She whispered:
I said nothing.
She continued.
“Do you know what that feels like?”
“Yes.”
She looked at me.
“How?”
“Because I helped you hide who I was.”
She frowned.
“I never asked you to.”
“Not directly.”
Not inviting Dad to certain events.
Using different words for my childhood.
Dad’s job became contractor.
My old friends became guys from school.
I had edited myself too.
For acceptance.
That was mine.
Not Fiona’s.
I told her.
She cried.
“So we both lied.”
“In different ways.”
“Does that make us even?”
“No.”
She laughed sadly.
“Fair.”
I did not want it.
“You keep it.”
“No.”
“Sell it.”
“No.”
“Throw it in the ocean.”
“Blake.”
I sighed.
“Fine.”
I took it.
Later, I sold it.
The money paid legal fees for a group of former pension workers.
Petty?
Maybe.
Useful?
Definitely.
Dad laughed when he found out.
Mom would have loved it.
That made me laugh too.
Then Fiona asked one last question.
“If my mother hadn’t said it, if I hadn’t laughed, would you have married me?”
I thought.
“Yes.”
Her face broke.
That was the tragedy.
Not that our wedding failed.
May you like
That without one ugly moment, I might have spent years living inside a marriage built on small humiliations I kept excusing.
Sometimes disaster is just truth arriving loudly.
