Chapter 65: Fragments of False Life
Diane’s POV
I stormed up the stairs, each step fueled by the fire raging in my chest. The twins kicked violently inside me, reacting to the chaos tearing through my heart. I didn’t care. I slammed my bedroom door so hard the entire house seemed to shudder. Then I leaned against it, sliding down with my hand supporting my big, round belly until I hit the floor, breath ragged and shallow.
The tears came in violent waves now, deep, guttural sobs that felt ripped from somewhere primal inside me. I wrapped my arms around my belly, trying to shield my unborn children from the shattered pieces of my past.
"I’m sorry," I whispered to them. "I’m so, so sorry you have to be part of this mess."
Memories crashed over me like a flood as I replayed fragments of my childhood...school events with an empty seat beside my mom, father-daughter dances I pretended not to care about, stories I told my classmates about my brave father who died saving others.
All lies.
I crawled slowly to the bedside table and yanked open the drawer and brought out my wallet, pulling out an old, creased photograph. It was the only one I had of my "father"—actually my uncle, I now realized—my mother had given me years ago. I’d slept with it under my pillow for years as a child, whispering goodnight to the stranger who’d supposedly loved me.
"You never existed," I hissed at the photo, tearing it into tiny pieces that fluttered to the carpet like confetti from some grotesque celebration of deception.
A knock came at the door. Soft. Hesitant.
"Go away!" I screamed, my voice already raw from crying.
"Diane, please." Joan. "Let me in. You shouldn’t be alone right now."