Chapter 27 #2
I press my hand to my mouth, but it’s not enough – a sound escapes anyway, half sob, half laugh, the noise you make when the universe reveals itself to be even more absurd than you feared.
My father never opened this. He never knew. He spent the last six years of his life drinking himself into the grave, mourning a woman he thought had chosen someone else – and the whole time, she’d been waiting for him.
She’d had his daughter. She’d reached out. And he never knew, because he never got the fucking envelope.
All that grief. All that wasted, pointless grief.
He died thinking she didn’t love him. And it was a lie.
The tears come then, hot and furious. I’m not sure if I’m crying for my father, for Helen, for Lily growing up without any of us – or for myself, left holding the wreckage of everyone else’s mistakes.
I don’t know how long I’ve sat here.
Long enough for the tea to go cold. Long enough for the light to shift from dawn-grey to proper morning. Long enough for my tears to dry and leave my face feeling tight and strange.
I’m still surrounded by letters when I hear the knock.
I shove everything back into the box, heart hammering. Jude? No – he wouldn’t knock. He’s got a key now, or at least the understanding that he doesn’t need one.
I wipe my face, take a breath, and open the door.
Nina.
She’s standing on my doorstep with a paper bag from the café and a careful expression. ‘Heard there was some drama yesterday. Thought you might need pastries.’
‘Nina.’ My voice comes out rough. ‘You didn’t have to—’
‘I know.’ She holds up the bag. ‘I wanted to. Can I come in?’
I step back to let her pass, praying she won’t notice the box, the scattered papers, the evidence of my morning’s excavation.
She doesn’t. Or if she does, she doesn’t mention it.
We settle in the kitchen – safer ground – and she unpacks croissants while I make fresh tea. For a few minutes, we talk about nothing. The weather. The boat restoration. How Cassie’s pregnancy is progressing.
Normal things. Village things.
But I can see she’s not right. There’s a tightness around Nina’s eyes, a brittleness to her smile that I’ve learned to recognise.
‘Nina.’ I set down my mug. ‘Are you okay?’
She laughs – a short, sharp sound. ‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that?’
‘You can. But I asked first.’
For a moment, I think she’s going to deflect. Change the subject, make a joke, do the thing we all do when someone gets too close to the tender parts.
Then her face crumples.
‘It’s just hard, you know?’ Her voice is thick. ‘Seeing everyone so happy. You and Jude, Kit and Isla, Cal and Cassie with the baby coming. Everyone’s moving on, building lives, and I’m still—’ She stops. Swallows. ‘I don’t know how to do that. Don’t know if I’ll ever want to.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I should have thought—’
‘No.’ She shakes her head firmly. ‘Don’t you dare apologise for being happy. I’m not – I’m not jealous, not really. I’m glad for you. All of you. It’s just…’ She trails off, staring at her hands.
‘Maybe a change of scenery would help,’ I offer. ‘Get away for a bit. See new places, new faces.’
Nina looks up sharply. ‘Leave Sea Salt Bay?’
I shrug. ‘Just a thought.’
‘And go where? This is my home. My café. Everything I built with Peter is here.’
‘I know.’ I reach across the table, squeeze her hand. ‘But are you living here? Or are you just … surrounded by ghosts?’
The question lands hard. I watch it register – the flinch, the flash of recognition.
‘I don’t know,’ she admits quietly. ‘I don’t know the difference anymore.’
We sit with that for a moment. The weight of it.
Then Nina straightens, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘God, look at me. I came to check on you and ended up having a breakdown in your kitchen.’
‘That’s what friends are for.’
She laughs – a real one this time, watery but genuine. ‘I should go. I’ve got the lunch rush to prep for.’ She stands, gathering the paper bag. ‘You’ll be okay? Whatever happened with Jude and his dad?’
‘I’ll be okay,’ I lie.
She hugs me at the door – tight, brief – and then she’s gone, walking back toward the harbour with her shoulders squared against whatever ghosts are following her.
I close the door and lean against it, breathing.
I have to tell Jude.
The letters are still waiting in the other room. Helen’s words. Lily’s existence. The whole tangled, impossible truth.
I have to tell him.
But how? How do I look at the man I’m falling for and say, By the way, your mother had an affair with my father, and they have a daughter together, and your dad has been lying to you your whole life, and I’ve known for almost twenty-four hours without saying anything?
There’s no good way. No kind way.
I’ll tell him tonight. When he comes back. I’ll sit him down and I’ll—
The door opens.
Jude steps inside, salt-wind in his hair, a grin spreading across his face when he sees me. ‘Finished early. Dad wasn’t speaking to me anyway, so I figured—’
He stops. Looks at me properly.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ The lie comes too easily. ‘Long morning.’
‘Brynn.’
‘I’m fine. Really.’ I cross to him, slide my arms around his waist, press my face into his chest. He smells like the sea. Like safety. Like everything I’m about to destroy. ‘I just missed you.’
He’s quiet for a moment. Then his arms come around me, pulling me closer.
‘I missed you too,’ he murmurs into my hair, hands hot on my skin, sliding under my jumper, fingertips trailing my stomach. ‘Come upstairs. Let me show you how much.’
I should say no. Should sit him down, tell him everything, rip off the plaster.
Instead, I let him lead me up the stairs.
The secret buries deeper.