You made your own bed, Claire.
For years, I had feared embarrassment more than loneliness. I had learned to keep the family’s secrets smooth and presentable. If my mother forgot my birthday, I said she was busy. If my father missed my graduation lunch, I said work ran late. If Whitney borrowed money and never paid it back, I called it a misunderstanding.
That night, I had finally been too injured to cover for anyone.
“What did Whitney say?” I asked.
Aunt Evelyn looked at Richard.
He sighed. “Nothing at first.”
Of course she hadn’t. Whitney had always understood silence as a kind of protection. As long as nobody challenged the version of life that benefited her, she could pretend she wasn’t involved.
“Then?” I asked.
“Then her fiancé asked whether Noah was safe.”
That surprised me.
“Daniel?”
Richard nodded. “He wanted the hospital name. Your father refused to give it.”
