“What did you find?”
Kayla's voice was barely above a whisper.
Eric did not answer immediately.
“Eric.”
“I found something about your father.”
Kayla's face drained of color.
“My father?”
“He contacted me before we broke up.”
I looked at Kayla.
Her father had died four years earlier.
She had not mentioned him much since his funeral.
“What did he want?” she asked.
“He wanted to know whether I intended to marry you.”
Kayla frowned.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It didn't to me either.”
“Why would he ask you?”
“I don't know.”
“Then what happened?”
“He told me something.”
Kayla gripped the back of the chair.
“What?”
Eric's voice dropped.
“He said he didn't think you were ready to know the truth about your childhood.”
The room seemed to shrink.
Kayla looked at me.
“What truth?”
“I don't know.”
“You just said he told you something.”
“He told me enough to make me uncomfortable, but not enough to understand everything.”
“What exactly did he say?”
Eric paused.
“He said your mother had been keeping something from you.”
Kayla closed her eyes.
I stepped closer.
“What does her mother have to do with this?”
Eric answered.
“I don't know.”
Kayla's eyes opened.
“You're lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You've had years to tell me this.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“You don't get to decide that.”
“I know.”
Her voice broke.
“Then why now?”
“Because I saw what happened between you and your sister.”
I froze.
“What?”
Eric continued.
“You told me about Andrew.”
Kayla looked confused.
“What about him?”
“You said you were testing him.”
She stared at the phone.
“How do you know that?”
“I heard from someone.”
“Who?”
Eric did not answer.
Kayla's face hardened.
“Who told you?”
“I can't say.”
“Then we're done.”
She reached for the phone.
Eric spoke quickly.
“Wait.”
She stopped.
“I need you to understand something.”
“What?”
“You weren't wrong to question people.”
Kayla laughed bitterly.
“I was absolutely wrong.”
“No.”
“You don't know what I did.”
“I know enough.”
“Then you know I humiliated myself.”
“You were trying to find proof that people leave because they aren't trustworthy.”
She looked down.
“That doesn't make it right.”
“No.”
Eric's voice softened.
“But it explains why you were desperate.”
The call ended shortly afterward.
Kayla sat silently.
I waited.
Finally, she looked at me.
“Do you remember Dad ever saying anything strange before he died?”
I thought carefully.
“About what?”
“About Mom.”
I shook my head.
“Not that I remember.”
She stood.
“I need to call her.”
Our mother lived two hours away.
Kayla called.
There was no answer.
She called again.
Still nothing.
Then she left a message.
“Mom, it's me. Call me.”
She paced the living room.
“Why isn't she answering?”
“She could be working.”
“She doesn't work on Sundays.”
I didn't know what to say.
An hour later, Mom returned the call.
Kayla put it on speaker.
“What's wrong?”
“Mom, did Dad ever talk to Eric?”
Silence.
The silence was too long.
Kayla's face changed.
“Mom?”
“What did Eric tell you?”
Kayla looked at me.
“He said Dad told him something about me.”
Another silence.
“What did Dad tell him?”
Mom sighed.
“I don't know.”
“You do.”
“I don't want to discuss this over the phone.”
“Then discuss it with me now.”
“Amanda is there?”
“Yes.”
“I don't think this is something you should—”
“Tell me.”
Mom's voice became quiet.
“Your father was worried about you.”
“Why?”
“Because he thought you were living your life according to what everyone expected.”
Kayla frowned.
“That doesn't explain anything.”
“No.”
“Then what are you hiding?”
Mom did not answer.
Kayla's voice rose.
“Mom.”
“I found letters.”
My stomach tightened.
“What letters?” Kayla asked.
“From your father.”
“Where?”
“In his office.”
“Why didn't you give them to me?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“That you would misunderstand them.”
Kayla laughed without humor.
“Apparently everyone is afraid I'll misunderstand everything.”
Mom began crying.
“I wanted to protect you.”
Kayla closed her eyes.
“That's what everyone keeps saying.”
She ended the call.
Neither of us spoke for a long time.
Andrew came home later that evening.
We told him everything.
He listened carefully.
Then he asked, “Do you know where the letters are?”
Mom had told Kayla that she would bring them the following weekend.
Until then, there was nothing to do but wait.
Kayla hated waiting.
She also hated uncertainty.
For once, however, she did not try to force an answer.
She went to work.
She kept her appointments.
She continued saving money.
And she stopped checking Eric's social media.
That mattered.
A week later, Mom arrived carrying a cardboard box.
She placed it on our dining table.
Kayla stared at it.
“Those are all Dad's?”
“Some of them.”
“Why did you keep them?”
Mom looked at her.
“Because I didn't know what else to do.”
Kayla opened the box.
Inside were old receipts, photographs, envelopes, and several handwritten pages folded into thirds.
She picked up the first letter.
The handwriting was unmistakably our father's.
She began reading.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
She handed it to me.
The letter was addressed to Mom.
The first few lines were ordinary.
Then came a sentence that made my stomach turn.
If Kayla ever asks why we treated her differently, you have to tell her the truth.*
Kayla took the page back.
“What does that mean?”
Mom sat down.
“I don't know.”
“You wrote that letter?”
“No.”
“Then what truth?”
Mom looked at the box.
“There was another letter.”
She pulled out a sealed envelope.
Kayla reached for it.
Mom stopped her hand.
“Before you open that, you need to know something.”
Kayla looked up.
“What?”
Mom's eyes filled with tears.
“Your father was not your biological father.”
The room went silent.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: The Secret in the Old Letters Forced Kayla to Rethink Her Entire Childhood, While One Question About Eric Threatened to Pull Everything Apart Again
My Sister Arrived With Two Suitcases and a Broken Heart, But Within Days She Was Quietly Turning Our Home Into a Test I Never Agreed To
Part 7 of 12
