Page 60 of Imogen

“Would it help if we found you someone professional to talk to, who could maybe help you through the process?” Dad offers.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, the lack of sleep catching up to me. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“We are really sorry you had to find out this way. We never meant to hurt you.”

“I see that now,” I answer my dad before glancing over at my brother, who is still glued to his game. “Are you okay with this, Josh?”

“You actually want my input?” he asks.

“Yes,” I respond slowly, wondering if I should have kept my mouth shut.

“It doesn’t change anything for me. You are still my sister and they are still our parents. We are still going to bicker and fight the same. Your birth mother might have been a terrible person, but personality isn’t a gene you pass on. It’s taught or mimicked. You might be a pain in the arse at times but you aren’t a bad person,” he responds, taking me back to the point I have no words. “Does it change things for you? Will I be your half-brother now?”

“No,” I rasp, my eyes wide at his declaration.

“Then there’s nothing more to say,” he announces before turning to Mum. “Can I go back to my room now?”

“Yes, honey,” she tells him.

Once he’s gone, Mum shakes her head. “He put on a front just now but he’s been worried sick all night. He, um, he got a little unsettled by the news.”

Dad clears his throat. “He was worried you were never going to come back.”

Another tear falls. “I didn’t mean to worry you all. I just needed to process everything. It wasn’t done to punish any of you.”

“We know,” Mum whispers. “We’re just glad you are back.”

“How did Zach find out?” I ask.

“We aren’t sure, but if I were to guess, he went snooping in the office. Only some of it reached the papers and it wasn’t enough to put what he did together,” Dad explains.

“Do you have any questions?” Mum asks. “About Vicky?”

“Was she always like that?” I ask.

Mum glances at Dad, who nods for her to continue. “She deserves to know everything.”

Mum exhales softly. “I wish I could tell you she wasn’t. But I don’t want there being any more lies between us. Vicky and I always had a shaky relationship. She often accused my parents of loving me more or yelled about them always telling her off. But then there were times when we would stay up late talking, doing sister things. All the wrong she caused got clouded in my mind, which may have erased all of the good. If I had known that one day, I would need to answer this question, I would have written all the good times down.”

My throat begins to tighten. I hate how hard this is for Mum. “How did she get into drugs and stuff?”

“She changed when she became a teenager. She wanted to be out with her friends and needed all the designer clothes and makeup. Then she kept missing her curfew and coming back drunk. Vicky and her friends always wanted to be the coolest so they would try to outdrink each other. Then boys happened and she became popular by sleeping around. I remember Mum and Dad reprimanding her because she was stoned. When they died and we got put into a group home, it got worse. Alcohol was never enough. Weed wasn’t enough. She was always chasing the high. It wasn’t easy being her sister. I forgave her and gave her so many chances. Each time she promised me she would do better, a piece of me broke.” She closes her eyes, inhaling. “I gave up on her. I wish I could say I regret it but I can’t, and I’m so very sorry you need to hear that.”

“Hey, she never gave you anything to fight for by the sounds of it.”

She wipes her nose with the sleeve of her top. “She didn’t want to be saved. It just took me a long time to see it. Even long after I left foster care, she would come into my life and turn it upside down. As soon as she got her money, she disappeared again. I was always waiting for the phone call to tell me she was dead. Always.”

“Did she not try to stop when she got pregnant?”

“She was in labour when I found out she was pregnant. She was high as a kite, and I thought she was miscarrying because she was barely showing. I took her to the doctors, where they sewed up her cervix, which gave you a few extra weeks to mature. It should have been longer but the lifestyle she led pushed it forward. She gave birth to you, and by the time I got back from seeing you in the NICU, she was gone. After getting her to sign the guardianship over to me so I could make the medical decisions for you, I never saw her again.”

“I’m sorry she was an awful person,” I whisper, holding her. “I’m sorry for making you worry all night, and letting you believe it’s because I didn’t think you were my mum.”

She cups my cheek. “You could scream, you aren’t my mother, and it wouldn’t make a difference. I’ll always be your mother and you’ll always be my daughter. I hate that you had to find out the way you did.”

“It must have been hard to keep this from me,” I point out.

“Actually, no. Because aside from the health scare we had when you were seven, it’s never entered my mind. I’ve never looked at you and thought of Vicky. I must sound like an awful person.”

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