Chapter 7: The Marriage That Was Built on a Secret
I arrived at my father’s house the next morning expecting answers.
Instead, I found silence.
The kind of silence that told me everyone had been avoiding something for a very long time.
My father opened the door before I knocked.
That alone made me uneasy.
He had been waiting.
“Come in.””
I stepped inside.
The house looked exactly the same as it always had.
The same paintings.
The same expensive furniture.
The same carefully arranged photographs.
But now every corner felt like it was hiding something.
Patricia was sitting in the living room.
She looked calm.
Too calm.
That bothered me more than anger would have.
People who were innocent usually wanted to explain themselves.
People who were guilty usually wanted control.
“Jenna,” she said.
I sat across from her.
My father remained standing.
“You said there were things I didn’t know.””
Nobody spoke.
Finally, Patricia sighed.
“I suppose Felicity told you.””
I looked at her.
“Why would Felicity know something about my mother that I don’t?””
Her expression changed slightly.
Just slightly.
But I noticed.
“Because she was older when it happened.””
“That doesn't answer my question.””
My father sat down.
“Jenna…”
“No.””
I looked at him.
“I need you to understand something. I have spent my entire life trying to be patient with everyone.””
My voice shook.
“I gave Felicity chances. I gave Patricia chances. I gave you chances.””
Nobody moved.
“But I am tired of being the person everyone expects to understand while nobody explains anything to me.””
My father lowered his head.
And finally, he began.
“Before your mother died, our marriage was already struggling.””
I felt my chest tighten.
I knew they had problems.
Every marriage had problems.
But hearing him admit it felt like losing my mother all over again.
“She was sick,” he continued.
“And I was scared.””
“That doesn't explain Patricia.””
He looked at his hands.
“Patricia was someone I worked with.””
I stared at him.
“You were having an affair?””
The word hung in the room.
My father closed his eyes.
“I made mistakes.””
I laughed softly.
Not because it was funny.
Because I didn't know what else to do.
“My mother was dying.””
“I know.””
“No, Dad. I don't think you do.””
My voice became sharper.
“She was raising a child who was about to lose her mother while you were building another relationship.””
Patricia finally spoke.
“You don’t know everything.””
I turned toward her.
“Then tell me.””
She hesitated.
And that hesitation made my anger burn hotter.
“Tell me what I don't know.””
Patricia looked at my father.
He nodded slowly.
“After your mother found out, she wanted a divorce.””
I froze.
“She knew?””
“Yes.””
“When?””
“Months before she passed.””
I sat there silently.
All these years.
All these years I believed my father was a grieving husband.
A lonely man who found love again.
But the truth was uglier.
My mother had died knowing she had been betrayed.
“I’m sorry,” my father whispered.
I looked at him.
“Are you?””
He looked hurt.
“Yes.””
“Because I don’t know if you’re sorry because you hurt Mom or because I found out.””
He didn't answer.
And that silence broke something inside me.
I stood.
“I’m done.””
“Jenna.””
I turned.
My father looked older than ever.
“Your mother forgave me.””
I stopped.
“What?””
“She forgave me before she died.””
I stared at him.
“She told me she didn't want you growing up carrying hatred.””
My eyes burned.
“That sounds like her.””
Because it did.
My mother was always like that.
Always trying to protect everyone.
Even people who hurt her.
“But she also told me something else,” my father said.
I looked at him.
“What?””
“She said if I ever made the same mistake again, I would lose you.””
My heart dropped.
Because suddenly, I understood.
My mother wasn't just talking about an affair.
She was warning him.
About Patricia.
I left my father's house with more questions than answers.
That had become the story of my life.
Everyone around me knew pieces of the truth.
I only received the parts they thought I could handle.
But I wasn't a child anymore.
I was twenty-nine years old.
I had watched people die.
I had comforted families through impossible moments.
I could handle the truth.
Even if it destroyed the image of my own family.
That evening, Adrian called.
I almost didn't answer.
But something told me I should.
“Hello?””
“Jenna.””
His voice sounded exhausted.
“What happened?””
A pause.
“Felicity found out I spoke to you.””
I closed my eyes.
“I'm guessing she wasn't happy.””
“No.””
“What did she do?””
“She threatened to leave.””
I frowned.
“After three days of marriage?””
“Yes.””
That didn't make sense.
Unless…
“Why?””
Another pause.
“Because I asked her about the documents.””
I sat down.
“What documents?””
“The ones proving she lied.””
My stomach tightened.
“Adrian, how much do you know?””
“I know enough to understand I don't know my wife.””
That sentence stayed with me.
Because it sounded familiar.
“I need your help,” he said.
“Why me?””
“Because you're the only person who knew her before she became this person.””
I looked out the window.
The truth was painful.
But he was right.
I knew Felicity.
Maybe better than anyone.
And maybe that was the reason she feared me.
“What do you need?””
“Find out why she did this.””
I hesitated.
Then I said:
“Okay.””
The moment I agreed, I felt something change.
For years, Felicity controlled the story.
May you like
But now?
Now I was looking for the missing pages.
