In the mailbox, he found a letter addressed to Michael, signed by Rebecca Lane—my aunt, his sister, who had vanished twenty-five years ago.
“Rebecca called him her son,” Dad said grimly. “Which makes Michael your cousin. Which means Sophia just married her cousin.”
The world tilted. I tried to argue—maybe it was another Rebecca Lane—but Dad slammed the steering wheel. “No. The letter had details only she would know. It’s her.”
Sickness twisted in my stomach. Sophia, glowing at her wedding, was blissfully unaware of the truth.
“Why didn’t you stop it?” I demanded.
His voice cracked. “I couldn’t ruin her day without proof. But you needed to know first. We have to tell her.”
That night, we sat in the kitchen, the house dark but for the clock’s faint glow. Dad slid the letter toward me, his hands trembling.
My dear Michael, I know you don’t want contact, but I cannot stay silent anymore. Your father kept you from me, but I’ve always loved you. Your new life in Chicago sounds promising. Please don’t shut me out completely.
The neat signature read: Rebecca Lane.
Tears stung my eyes. “If this is true, Sophia has to know. But on her wedding night?”