I’d rehearsed furious speeches in the shower.
I’d imagined slapping him.
Crying.
Demanding explanations.
Begging for them.
But when he finally stood in front of me, every rehearsed word disappeared.
There was only one question that mattered.
“How long have you known who I was?”
Caleb looked at me.
He didn’t pretend not to understand.
“Since the bookstore.”
My heart sank.
“So meeting me wasn’t an accident.”
“I saw your name on the event announcement. I went because I wondered if…”
“If I was the girl with the red bicycle?”
His silence answered me.
“All those questions about my childhood,” I said. “You already knew.”
“Yes.”
“For nearly two years, Caleb?”
“I wanted to tell you.”
“But you didn’t.”
He lowered his eyes.
I felt something inside me fracture again.
“I told you what my mother went through working for a wealthy family. I told you how ashamed she felt afterward. You stood there listening while knowing I was talking about your father.”
