Chapter 1
Everything about prom night was supposed to feel perfect.
My blue dress hung from my shoulders like something out of a movie.
Mom had curled my hair.
My little brother had complained for ten minutes about taking pictures, then took more than anyone.
And beside me stood Noah Reed, the boy I thought might become my first real love.
He held a small white flower box in both hands.
His suit was too new.
His smile was nervous.
I loved that.
“Ready?” he whispered.
I nodded.
I was seventeen, excited, and foolish enough to believe one night could belong only to happiness.
Then I brought him into my living room to meet my family.
Dad came from the kitchen wiping his hands on a towel.
He was smiling.
That warm, embarrassing dad smile he used whenever he wanted to pretend he was calm.
“There they are,” he said. “Look at you two.”
Mom lifted her phone.
“Stand closer. I need pictures.”
Noah laughed and stepped beside me.
I reached for his hand.
Dad stopped moving.
The towel slipped from his fingers.
At first, I thought he was looking at my dress.
Then I saw his face.
The smile was gone.
All the color had drained from him.
He stared at Noah like he had seen someone climb out of a grave.
“Dad?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
Noah shifted beside me.
“Sir?”
Dad did not answer.
His eyes moved over Noah’s face.
His jaw.
His dark hair.
The small scar above his left eyebrow.
His eyes.
Especially his eyes.
Mom lowered her phone.
“Mark?”
Dad swallowed.
“What’s your mother’s name?”
The question landed strangely.
Too heavy.
Too sharp.
Noah blinked.
“My mom?”
Dad nodded once.
Noah gave a nervous laugh.
“Caroline. Caroline Reed.”
Dad gripped the back of the couch.
Mom’s face changed too.
Not shock.
Recognition.
Fear.
My stomach tightened.
“Why are you asking him that?” I said.
Dad sank down onto the couch.
Not sat.
Sank.
Like his knees had given out.
Noah looked at me, confused.
I squeezed his hand, but my palm had gone cold.
Dad whispered, “Caroline Reed.”
Mom’s voice shook.
“Mark, don’t.”
But he was not listening.
He looked at Noah again.
“How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“April third.”
Dad closed his eyes.
Mom covered her mouth.
The living room went silent except for the clock ticking above the fireplace.
My little brother, Eli, stood frozen near the stairs.
I tried to laugh.
It came out wrong.
“Can someone please explain why this is getting weird?”
Dad opened his eyes.
They were wet.
I had seen my father angry.
Tired.
Proud.
I had almost never seen him afraid.
“Before I met your mother,” he said slowly, “I knew a woman named Caroline.”
My heart began pounding.
“No.”
“I was twenty-one. It was serious. Then she left town suddenly. I never knew why.”
Mom whispered, “Mark.”
Dad’s voice cracked.
“I found out later there might have been a pregnancy, but by then I couldn’t find her.”
Noah pulled his hand from mine.
He stepped back.
“Wait.”
I shook my head.
“No. No, this is not funny.”
“No one is laughing,” Mom said softly.
Dad looked at Noah like every word hurt.
“What was your father’s name?”
Noah’s face went pale.
“I don’t have one. My mom said he left before I was born.”
Dad flinched.
“That isn’t what happened.”
My body went numb.
Noah stared at him.
“What are you saying?”
Dad pressed both hands over his mouth.
For a moment, he looked like he might be sick.
Then he said the sentence that destroyed prom night before we even left the house.
“There is a chance you’re my son.”
The flower box slipped from Noah’s hand.
White petals scattered across the floor.
I could not breathe.
Noah looked at me.
I looked at him.
An hour ago, I had been worried he might kiss me during the last slow dance.
Now I was staring at him, wondering if he was my brother.
“No,” I whispered.
Dad stood.
“I’m sorry.”
Noah backed toward the door.
“No. My mom would have told me.”
Dad said, “Maybe she had a reason not to.”
Noah’s face twisted.
“Don’t talk about her like that.”
“I’m not accusing her.”
“You don’t know her.”
“No,” Dad said, voice breaking. “But I knew her once.”
Mom reached for me.
I pulled away.
Because suddenly everyone in the room felt like part of a secret except me.
“How long did you know?” I asked her.
Mom’s eyes filled.
“I knew there was someone before me. I didn’t know about him.”
Noah grabbed his keys from the table.
“I need to go.”
I moved toward him.
“Noah.”
He looked at my dress.
My corsage.
My trembling hands.
Then he whispered, “I can’t be here.”
He ran out.
The door slammed.
I stood in the living room with white flowers at my feet and prom music waiting at a school gym we would never reach.
Dad said my name.
“Lena.”
I turned on him.
“If he’s your son, then what am I supposed to do with the fact that I loved him?”
May you like
Nobody answered.
Because there was no answer gentle enough.
