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Just State the Facts Fred. Deal with the Dilemma Dad.
But his name wasn’t Fred.
He and her mother had hidden who theyreallywere for decades.
And hadn’t told them where they had come from exactly. Not even what town. They had skirted around that. Or what their real names were. Where they had come from. Whether those siblings were boys or girls or a mix of both. How oldtheywere, or what their names were. Or even where they were, or nothing.
They’d told them everything. And they’d told them nothing, too.
She had so many questions.
Dylan was two months from being twenty-three years old. Almost twenty-three years they had lied to her. “Who are we really then?”
Dahlia slipped her hand into Dylan’s. Her sister was afraid. Dylan had always hated it when Dahlia was afraid.Dylanwas the big sister. The one who was supposed to take care of the twins, and definitely Dorie.
She did. She always had. Even when their parents had woken them up in the middle of the night before and told them they had to run. That the bad guys were after them again. Then they’d tell them some made up baloney. Their mother would stand there, panicking, her hand on that scar on her neck and everything. And Dylan would believe it.
So they’d just follow along. Like good little sheep. Never questioning. Just believing. Trusting.
They’d changed last names at least four times that Dylan could remember. In her special book she’d kept as a kid, she’d written down each of those last names and where they’d lived, from the time she had been old enough to realize not every family lived that way.
So she wouldn’t forget who they had oncebeen.Who shewas.
But this?
“We have another family out there. And you kept them from us. Why?” Her hand tightened around Dahlia’s, as Devaney leaned against her left side. Dorie sat in the chair across from their father. Just staring.
The twins had been taller than Dylan since about the time she was twelve. They had five inches on her now. Dorie had seven. But Dylan was the oldest. The one in charge. The one who did things first, so the scary wouldn’t be there for them, too. Dylan was the brave one.
But she wasn’t theoldestat all. “What are their names?”
Her father hesitated.
Anger flashed through her. She and her father fought a lot. They always had. He was very demanding, controlling. Especially with the twins and their mother and Dorie. But Dylan? Dylan was too much like him. He hadn’t been able to control her for a long, long time.
Something she knew he took pride in. Even when it angered him every time.
She’d always been so close to her parents. But now? She didn’t know them at all. “You owe us that much. Why did you leave them?”
“We couldn’t take them with us,” her mother said. She reached for Dylan. “It wasn’t safe for them.”
Dylan didn’twanther mom to touch her. Not now. Just not now. “You just left them. And ran. Why?”
“It was the right decision,” her father said, standing up. So tall. Dylan had always wondered why she was so short, at just five feet—in thick-soled shoes—and her father stood a full foot and a half taller. Her mom, too, was five eight or so. But Dylan was a lot shorter. “Are you even our real parents?”
She looked like her mom. Her hair was blond, just like her mom’s, though Dylan’s was far shorter, curlier, and way lighter. She thought her mom’s hair was blond anyway. Her mom dyed her hair a lot. Saying she needed a change now and then. Or was it to hide who she really was?
Dylan was seriously fighting the urge to scream at them now. To demand to knowwhy.Just… “Why did you leave them behind?”
“We just had to,” her mother said. “It was best for them…and…”
She knew, though. “You left them because of me, didn’t you? You were pregnant with me. You had to be, to have left them twenty-three years ago.”
Her mom just kept stepping closer. Dylan wanted to put her hand up, to stop her mom from touching her right now. But Dahlia still held her hand on the one side. And somehow, she’d linked fingers with Devaney on the other.
Her sisters. Her best friends. She adored them. Would do whatever she had to forever to protect them. And they hadfourmore out there somewhere? “We never got a chance to know them. How old were they when you dumped them?”
Left them on the doorstep. On their grandparents’ doorstep. They’d justleftthem.
