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“This isn’t the time, Mia.” Dad won’t even look at me as red patches become visible on his skin.
Next to me, Coen shifts in his seat. “I have a pretty good idea about why she dislikes you.”
“You do?” I ask, surprised he’s the one to speak up.
Leaning closer, Coen whispers directly into my ear. “I don’t know if I’ve guessed correctly, but if I have, it’s big. Not something that should be revealed carelessly.”
How would Coen know?
“Oh, what’s the point? Mia, you’re not mine.” Mom smiles—fucking smiles—at me as she lets the Alaskan-sized nuclear bomb fall from her lips. “Your dad had an affair twenty-six years ago, and you’re the result. Your mom was a… Well, she was a stripper he met at a bachelor party. Like mother like daughter, I suppose.”
“That’s enough, Miranda,” Dad shouts, subconsciously wrapping his hand around Mom’s cast. “We agreed never to tell her, and you promised to raise her as if she was your own. That was the deal!”
I’m trying to fight my reaction. Even though I’m taking deep breaths to keep it inside me, it’s no use. Losing the battle against my body’s natural reaction, laughter bubbles from my throat. Before long, I’m laughing so hard tears are falling.
“W-what kind of sick joke is this?” I hiccup, clutching my stomach that’s aching from laughing so much. “Did he tell you to say that?”
That doesn’t make sense, though. If Luis has done his homework, he will know how strained my relationship is with my family. Why play into it? Why free me from any obligations toward the woman I hate to love?
It’s not until I look at my mom and see how she sneers at me like I’m nothing that I realize I’m not laughing. These aren’t tears of joy or amusement. The pain of my heartbreak is so intense that it’s hard to feel it. It’s just as when I accidentally cut myself with a knife when I was a kid. It took me a long time to realize I was hurting, that’s how potent the pain was.
“How fucking dare you?” I barely recognize Kas’ voice, it sounds all wrong. It’s jarring and harsh, unlike how I’ve ever heard my jokester. “How fucking dare you?” He repeats the question, looking at my mom—or whoever she is—with murder in his eyes.
Coen pulls me closer to him, hiding my face against his chest as I cry. Now that the floodgates are open, I don’t know how to keep everything at bay.
My mom isn’t my mom.
She wants me to be harmed.
She hates me, and why wouldn’t she? I’m the walking, talking reminder of her husband’s infidelity.
“But I never did anything,” I whisper into the soft fabric of Coen’s shirt. “I didn’t do this,” I repeat the words over and over, not even sure I know why.
“Shhh! Babe, you have done nothing wrong.” I let myself indulge in Coen’s comfort long enough to hear my dad yell at my mo—at Miranda—and to hear Kas spitting venom at them for keeping this from me and treating me like dirt.
“She’s your fucking daughter, and you let your wife treat her like shit. You allowed her to use Mia as a bargaining chip. How can you even look at yourself? You’re not a fucking man, you’re as bad as the woman sitting next to you.”
My dad clears his throat before saying, “Now, Kas, you need to calm down. That’s not how—”
“I don’t fucking care about loopholes or excuses. That’s between you and whoever wants to take your confessional. I care about Mia, the daughter you didn’t stand up for. The one you lied to.”
This isn’t right. Parts of the foundations I built my life on are crumbling, and the shock to my system must be bigger than I realize, since I’m physically being shaken. At first, I thought the tremors were coming from me, but now I know they’re not.
“Let’s not split hairs here, Roger.” The way Coen snarls my dad’s name speaks volumes, and I’m surprised he’s still sitting here holding me tenderly. “None of this matters right now, though. Your wife must know something since she’s the one who lured Mia here.” It’s only when I hear the forced control in Coen’s voice that I realize it’s not my foundation or world that’s shaking, it’s him.
“What do you mean? Explain yourself,” my dad demands, sounding like he’s on the verge of crying.
Kas sighs audibly before he explains as vaguely as possible. “Your daughter is in danger, and your wife knows something about it. I’m betting the cast isn’t real, that it’s part of a trick.”
“There’s a hole in the cast,” I gasp, remembering what I saw. “Coen, the cast is fake.”
After asking me if I can sit by myself, Coen launches himself at Mom, making her scream. Peeking through my half-closed eyes, I see my dad clench his fist, but otherwise, he doesn’t act. His eyes are trained on Coen as he pins Mom’s arm beneath his knee and viciously tears the cast from her hand.
“What the hell!” I watch as Dad shoots out of his chair, looking at Mom’s arm that looks just fine. “What’s with the theatrics?” he asks, sounding unsure and angry all at the same time.
I can’t take this. It’s all becoming too much.
While I want nothing more than to breathe deeply, I can’t. Something is holding me back, stopping my body from obeying my commands. My lungs feel as though they’re burning with the need for air, and my entire body is shaking.
