I was sixteen, old enough to be angry, to resent every smile on Dad’s face when he picked us up for his weekend visits, pretending life hadn’t changed. Mom, for her part, held her head high, but I could see the cracks in her strength. She’d given her life to him, and he’d thrown it away.

So when Dad called to say he was marrying Vanessa and wanted us at the wedding, I nearly laughed in his face.

“I know it’s awkward,” he said on the phone, his voice hesitant. “But you and Alex are my kids. I want you there. It would mean a lot to me.”

I bit back the urge to ask if he had thought about what meant a lot to us when he cheated. But Alex was listening from the couch, his eyes wide and unblinking.

“Fine,” I said finally, though every bone in my body screamed against it. “We’ll come.”