“Accident?” Morgan’s voice cut through the air like glass.
Normally, your best friends are the people you tell everything to—the ugly, the shameful, the painful. But I had never told them this. At first, it was because their parents had just died in a wreck, and why add more grief to their pile? Later, it was because I was just so damn tired. Tired of being the girl in the hospital. Tired of the pity. So I’d lied. I’d told them I was in Arizona with my aunt.
I cleared my throat, choking on the weight of the secret. “It’s... it’s not a big deal.”
The table erupted into movement. Relatives started clearing plates, desperate to escape the tension.
“Not a big deal?!” Morgan’s voice cracked, louder than I’d ever heard it. “Vanessa, if you were in physical therapy, that means you went through hell—and you didn't tell us?” Her arms crossed tight over her chest, her tone sharp. “We would’ve been there. Every single day. You know that, right? But you didn’t even give us the chance.”
“I didn’t want to burden you—” I started, but my voice faltered.
“Burden us?” Morgan’s eyes were wild, red from crying. “Van, we lost our parents. It nearly broke us. But you? You shut us out. You decided we couldn't handle your pain. Do you even know what that feels like? To know you were suffering and we weren't even allowed to try to help?”
Elliott’s voice dropped low, rough and steady. It landed just as hard as Morgan's scream. “We thought we knew everything about you. And all this time, we didn’t.”
I felt like a child caught in a lie that had grown too big to manage. “I was in a car accident,” I whispered.
“When?” Elliott demanded. His voice was firm. Angry.
“It’s not important,” I mumbled.
“When?” Morgan repeated, ice in her voice.
I looked at her, begging with my eyes, but she was already piecing it together. Her face transformed as the truth slammed into her. “The last time I saw you drive was…” She gasped, a jagged, sobbing sound. “Oh my God.”
She bolted from the table.
I stood up. “Morgan, please?—”
She waved me off, running into the house. Penelope followed without a word, and Elliott rose too, his gaze lingering on me for one devastating second before he trailed after them. I collapsed back into my seat, my jaw hanging.
“Mija, is there anything I can do?” My mom was beside me instantly. My dad looked devastated. “I’m so sorry,mija. I didn't know.”
“It’s okay,” I told them, though nothing felt okay. “I should’ve told them.”
I followed the sound of voices into the house. Mytíawas cleaning up the cake mess, but she just tilted her head toward the hallway.
“I just don’t understand why she didn't tell us,” Morgan’s voice drifted out of my bedroom.
When I stepped inside, they all fell silent. Their gazes dropped—instinctively, painfully—to the scar running the length of my left leg.
“You could’ve told us,” Penelope said flatly. Her face was full of a cold disappointment that hurt worse than her anger.
“It was never the right time.”
“When?” Elliott demanded again. I made the mistake of looking at him. His eyes were raw. “When, Vanessa? When did this happen?”
I could barely get the words out. “The night of your parents’ funeral.”
A single tear slipped down my cheek.
“Good Lord, Vanessa,” Penelope muttered, turning away.
“Jesus,” Elliott breathed, leaning his back against the wall as if his legs couldn't hold him.
Morgan stared at me, broken. “I don’t understand. You were with us all day.”
“I left while you were asleep,” I said. I didn't tell them about the call from my dad. Not about the fight. I’d dissected that night too many times already.
