she said.

“It doesn’t.”

“I know.”

I placed the photo on my bookshelf.

“But you can stay for dinner.”

She gave me a small, uncertain smile.

“Okay.”

It wasn’t forgiveness.

Not yet.

But it was honest.

And honesty was more useful than the version of family Dad had spent years protecting.

The strangest part was realizing that losing my place in the Mercer family hadn’t continue reading …

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