Then natural.
I showed Grace the photograph.
Me.
Emily.
Rebecca.
Catherine.
All standing together.
“Your father would've cried through the whole thing.”
I laughed.
Then:
“I still don't know what I think of him.”
Wind moved through the cedar branches.
“He loved me.”
“He lied.”
“He gave me a beautiful life.”
“He stole truths that belonged to me.”
“All of it happened.”
I touched the plaque.
“For a long time, I thought if I admitted how much he hurt me, it would mean the marriage wasn't real.”
“That isn't true.”
Thirty-four years had been real.
So had the lie inside them.
One did not erase the other.
I finally understood something Zane never had.
Truth does not destroy love nearly as often as people fear.
Sometimes it changes love.
Sometimes it ends a marriage.
Sometimes it creates anger.
Sometimes it introduces strangers.
Sometimes it makes a daughter ask questions you cannot answer.
