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PART ONE

Aperture

The opening in a lens through which light passes into the camera.

Chapter

One

Logan

I used to think the worst thing my parents ever did was give birth to me.

My whole life, they’d been hardworking people. Dad’s been with the same financial company for years—the same one I now work for—and Mom teaches kindergarten. They attend church every Sunday, say grace before every meal, and abide by the Lord’s prayer.

Or so I thought.

Then there’s me, the oldest son. Always trying to prove myself, to be worthy of them—to be worthy of God.

Turns out we’re all a bunch of fucking liars.

Standing at their front door, my fist hovers over the wood, knuckles cold from the night air. A porch light buzzes softly overhead, casting long shadows across the driveway, but all I can hear is the pounding in my chest.

Too fast, too loud. Like my body is warning me to turn around, go back to the car, run far away. Pretend the news I learned yesterday isn’t real, that my whole life hasn’t been wasted.

I thought I was the oldest, the firstborn, the one to set an example for my younger brothers. I was supposed to follow in my father’s footsteps.

“Your parents have been lying to you. To us, and every single person.”

Devon’s words still don’t feel real. Everything I’ve believed my entire life is a lie. Now, I don’t know who the hell I am anymore.

I should just knock, get it all over with. But what if they look me in the eye and tell me Devon was wrong, that I misunderstood, that it’s just a giant joke?

Even worse—what if they don’t?

Exhaling sharply, I lift my fist and pound on the door until it swings open.

“Is it true?” I blurt the minute they appear, wishing with every ounce of my soul that I was being pranked. “Am I adopted?”

The color drains from my mother’s face, and her fingers tighten around the knob like she might slam the door on me. Dad stands behind her, arms crossed over his robe, mouth pressed into a hard line. Not shocked or confused, just… bracing. Like they’d been waiting for the day I uncovered their dirty little secret.

The air between us thickens, suffocating me. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out everything except the ragged sound of my own breathing. I don’t realize that my hands are shaking until I ball them into fists at my sides.

“Logan,” Mom finally breathes, her voice little more than a whisper.

That’s all she gives me. My name. It does nothing to extinguish the wildfire raging inside my chest.

I take a step forward, my jaw clenched so tight it aches. “Just answer the damn question.”

Dad’s expression darkens as he pulls Mom behind him. “Watch your tone, boy.”

A bitter, broken laugh escapes me. “My tone? You’re really going to stand there and lecture me about my tone when you’ve been lying to me my entire life?”

Mom reaches for me, but I jerk back like her touch burns. I can’t do this. I can’t stand in the doorway of my childhood home, the house where every memory suddenly feels tainted by the weight of their deception.

“Just tell me,” I try again, my voice cracking. “Is it true?”

Silence. A long, painful stretch of it.