Alex was only ten at the time, old enough to understand betrayal but too young to know how to process it. He went quiet, his jokes disappearing, his trust in Dad shattered. I was sixteen, old enough to be angry, to resent every smile on Dad’s face when he picked us up for his weekend visits, pretending life hadn’t changed.
Mom, for her part, held her head high, but I could see the cracks in her strength. She’d given her life to him, and he’d thrown it away. So when Dad called to say he was marrying Vanessa and wanted us at the wedding, I nearly laughed in his face.
It would mean a lot to me.”
I bit back the urge to ask if he had thought about what meant a lot to us when he cheated. But Alex was listening from the couch, his eyes wide and unblinking. “Fine,” I said finally, though every bone in my body screamed against it.
“We’ll come.”
Alex didn’t say a word. He just nodded, almost too quickly, as though agreeing before he could change his mind. I thought he was just being polite.
I had no idea what was going on inside his head. The wedding was held at a fancy country club on the edge of town. On the drive there, Alex sat silently beside me in his little suit, staring out the window.
“You okay?” I asked him. “Yeah,” he said. But his voice was flat, and he kept fiddling with something in his pocket.
I didn’t push. When we arrived, the place looked like something out of a magazine. White chairs lined the lawn, flowers draped across a wooden arch, and a string quartet played softly.
Guests mingled in expensive outfits, sipping champagne. I felt out of place instantly. And angry.
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