The Wig Brielle Was Never Supposed to Know About

For several seconds, I thought I had misunderstood my mother.

“She's whose daughter?”” I asked.

My mother lowered her hands. Her mascara had begun to run, leaving dark streaks beneath her eyes.

“Your father's daughter.””

Marcus stood beside me, holding the envelope. His newly shaved head made him look younger somehow, but his expression was older than I'd ever seen it.

“Emily's father has been dead for twelve years,” he said.

“What exactly are you telling us?””

My mother looked toward the church doors.

“Her name is Rachel.””

The name meant nothing to me.

I searched my memory for a cousin, a family friend, a woman who might have attended one of my father's memorial services. Nothing surfaced.

“Dad never mentioned a Rachel,” I said.

“Of course he didn't.””

“Why?””

My mother pressed her fingers against the pearl earrings at her ears.

“Because he was having an affair.””

The words landed between us with a brutal finality.

Somewhere behind me, a guest quietly closed a hymnal.

I had spent my childhood believing my parents' marriage was imperfect but ordinary. They argued about money, forgot anniversaries, and sometimes slept in separate rooms. My father traveled frequently for work, and my mother complained that he cared more about his business than his family.

But an affair?

A second daughter?

I stared at her.

“You told me Dad never cheated.””

“I was trying to protect you.””

That sentence again.

My mother had used it to justify everything from withholding information to humiliating me.

I wondered how many other lies she had wrapped in the language of love.

Marcus placed the envelope on a nearby pew.

“Who is Rachel, Elaine?””

My mother took a shaky breath.

“She was born two years before Emily. Her mother worked with your father. When the affair ended, he paid child support privately. I found out after Emily was born.””

“And you stayed married?”” I asked.

“I had a baby. I had a mortgage. Your father begged me to forgive him.””

“But you told me he was faithful.””

“I wanted you to remember him as a good man.””

I laughed, though there was nothing funny about it.

“You didn't protect his memory. You protected your version of it.””

My mother flinched.

Across the aisle, Brielle was whispering urgently to her mother. When she noticed me watching, she stopped.

Marcus followed my gaze.

“Brielle, you're going to explain your connection to Rachel.””

Brielle's chin lifted.

“I barely know her.””

“Yet you recognized the document.””

“I never said I recognized it.””

“You denied getting it from the clinic before I even asked where it came from.””

Her cheeks reddened.

“Because you're accusing me of something I didn't do!””

“Then help us understand what happened.””

Brielle looked toward the guests.

“I don't owe you an explanation.””

Marcus nodded slowly.

“Fine. But you owe Emily one.””

He turned back to me.

“Do you want to continue the wedding?””

The question brought me back to the altar, the flowers, the white dress, and the ceremony that had been waiting for us before my family tore it apart.

I looked at the wig lying abandoned near the front pew.

Then I looked at Marcus.

“Yes,” I said.

“But not until I know why someone stole my medical information.””

He squeezed my hand.

“Then that's what we'll do.””

The officiant approached cautiously.

“I can give you some privacy if you'd like.””

“Thank you,” Marcus replied.

“But I think we need witnesses.””

My grandmother stepped forward.

“So do I.””

She looked directly at my mother.

“Your lies have lasted long enough.””

My mother sank into a chair.

For the first time that afternoon, she looked genuinely frightened.

I crouched in front of her.

“Mom, how does Rachel know Brielle?””

My mother stared at the floor.

“They met at a charity event last year.””

“Which charity event?””

“The hospital foundation gala.””

My stomach tightened.

The clinic where I'd received treatment had been affiliated with that foundation. Marcus and I had attended the gala together, although I'd left early after becoming exhausted.

I remembered a woman standing near the registration desk, wearing a silver dress and speaking to Brielle.

I hadn't thought anything of it.

“Did Rachel know about my treatment?””

My mother nodded.

“How?””

“Your father left her a letter before he died. It explained who you were.””

I couldn't understand why a letter written twelve years earlier would matter now.

“What did it say?””

“I don't know everything. Rachel contacted me after your father's death. She wanted to meet you, but I refused.””

“Why?””

“Because I didn't want her coming into our lives and destroying what was left of our family.””

I stood.

“You destroyed it yourself.””

My mother began to cry again.

I wanted to comfort her out of habit. For most of my life, whenever she cried, I had been expected to forget whatever she'd done and make her feel better.

This time, I stepped away.

Marcus picked up the envelope and examined the printed label again.

“There's a phone number on the back,” he said.

“I'm going to call the company.””

Brielle immediately moved toward him.

“Don't.””

Everyone turned.

Marcus slowly lowered the envelope.

“Why not?””

She swallowed.

“Because you don't know what you're getting into.””

My pulse quickened.