Page 18 of No Turning Back
She still doesn’t smile. That alone tells me everything I need to know.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
She looks at me like I’ve just announced I believe in lizard people. “Of course, your dad’s your dad,” she says, incredulous. “Jesus, Quinn, who do you take me for?”
I shrug. She exhales sharply, then says, “It’s just… we didn’t want you to know. But now...”
She takes a deep breath. “About forty years ago, your father lived in New York with his family. Things were… fine. Your grandfather came from old money. Your dad was spoiled, but his younger brother, Bennet, he was worse. Never told ‘no.’
She looks away. “Your father used to resent that until the day, Bennet was just… gone. Bernard never told me exactly how, just that he died. Your dad’s parents, your grandparents, well, Bennet was their favourite, and they never recovered. Until one day, they found out Bennet had a child. The mother had moved to Chicago, and someone else had signed the birth certificate. Your grandparents wanted your dad to say the child was his.”
I frown. “How is that even possible? Wouldn’t a paternity test-”
“They were identical twins,” she says quietly. “They had the same DNA.”
I stare at her. “So, Dad said no and cut them off?”
She shakes her head. “No. He agreed.”
My jaw drops.
“Your dad was a different man back then,” she goes on. “Anyway, he went to Chicago. The second this woman saw him, she had a severe panic attack. Her husband was the one who told your dad the truth, that the baby hadn’t been conceived consensually. He was the product of rape.”
My stomach turns.
“I cannot imagine what it must have been like for her,” my mom says softly, placing her hand over mine. “When your dad went back to New York and told his parents, they weren’t surprised. Turns out, it wasn’t the first time Bennet had done somethinglike that, nor the first time they covered it up. Your dad realized the world he’d been living in and decided to leave. He moved to Texas, met me… and here we are.”
I swallow. “So why tell me now?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. The letter your dad left me said he had to tell you and that he’d explain why in yours.”
The rest of the day passes in a blur.
Even with Jordan’s quiet laughter drifting in from the backyard and Melly’s nails clicking against the tile, I can’t stop thinking about it, about the boy who’s biologically my half-sibling and my cousin, about the family my dad grew up in.
And mostly, about why my dad wanted me to know now.
Why not years ago, when I could’ve asked him myself? Why wait until he was gone, when the truth can’t be challenged, only carried?
I try hanging with my mom. I try cooking at home. I try scrolling aimlessly on my phone after Jordan goes to bed. But it’s there, a constant hum beneath everything, this impossible family tree branching in directions I never imagined.
By the time I finally go to bed, it’s after two in the morning. Sleep doesn’t come so much as it circles me, teasing, letting me drift before dropping me back into consciousness. Every time I close my eyes, I see my dad walking into that woman’s house, see her face crumple in terror, see the whole ugly truth laid bare.
Morning feels like a hangover I didn’t earn. My body moves on autopilot, shower, coffee, keys. I drop Jordan off at school and begin the drive to the lawyer’s office, my stomach tightening the closer I get.
Inside, the receptionist smiles politely but tells me Mr. Cooper is unavailable. “He left it with me,” she says, sliding a white envelope across the counter.
I sign the form without really reading it. My hands are steadier than I expect.
Back in my car, the envelope sits on the passenger seat like it weighs a hundred pounds. The seal is unbroken, my name written in my father’s looping, deliberate hand.
For a long moment, I just stare at it, the way I did with the glass of juice yesterday, like maybe if I look hard enough, the answers will appear without me having to open it.
They don’t.
Deciding to rip off the Band-Aid, I grab the envelope and tear it open with shaking hands.
My dearest Quinn,
