Peter had been angry at first, but over time, he had let his father back into his life. When a fire destroyed Jack’s apartment three years ago, Peter and Betty quietly took him in. They never told me—afraid of how I’d react, afraid I’d disrupt the fragile peace they had managed to create.
I was furious. Hurt. Betrayed.
It felt like everyone I loved had chosen him over me, the one who had stayed, the one who had never walked away. Peter tried to explain. Jack was dying.
He didn’t want to lose both his parents without trying to mend at least some of the old wounds. I told them I needed time. And I do.
I don’t know if I can forgive Jack. I don’t know if I ever will. But at least now, finally, I know the truth.
