Mark’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the terrace balcony, staring out into the dimly lit garden. The muffled sounds of the wedding band drifted through the double doors behind us.
“Twenty-three years ago, when you packed up for college, you didn’t just walk away from me,” Mark whispered, his voice trembling. “I wrote to you every single week for six months. I begged you to talk to me, to give us a real chance.”
I stared at him in complete disbelief, my heart slamming against my ribs. “Mark, I never received a single letter. You told me if I left, we were completely finished.”
“I know,” Mark said, pulling a folded, worn piece of paper from inside his suit jacket. “Because your mother intercepted every single letter before you could read them.”
My head began to spin as the ground seemed to tilt beneath my feet. “What are you talking about?”
“She came to my house the night before you left,” Mark continued, his eyes filling with tears. “She told me I was holding you back, and she made a deal with me. But that’s not even the worst part…” What secret did my mother take to her grave? Continue reading Part 3 below to uncover the truth.
