Not the dull fear of a man who knew he was dying.
Something sharper.
“Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Promise you’ll listen before you hate me.”
I almost laughed because the idea was ridiculous.
“I could never hate you.”
His fingers tightened.
“You might.”
“Dad…”
“I’ve lied to you your entire life.”
My stomach dropped.
I studied his face, wondering if the medication was confusing him.
“What are you talking about?”
“My mind is clear.”
“Then tell me.”
He struggled for breath.
“There are things you believe about your childhood… about why I stayed… about who I was before your mother.”
My mouth went dry.
“Was there another family?”
His eyes filled with tears.
“Yes.”
The word hit me harder than I expected.
“Were you married?”
He nodded faintly.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
