She pulled out an old newspaper article and handed it to me. It was one of the many my mother had saved, regarding Jude’s awards and accolades.

“What does this—”

“Look at the pictures,” Cara explained, pointing at the picture of a bored-looking Jude sitting on a stage, about to receive his millionth award.

Next to him though… was Lauren.

My eyes flew to hers.

“You went to school with Jude?” I asked, wondering how it was me then who had ruined her life.

“For a while, yes,” she answered. “Until your father made me leave.”

“Why would—”

And then it all clicked into place as Cara’s finger landed on the last picture in the article. A young version of my father was gripping the arm of another woman, obviously in a heated argument.

“I recognized the woman from a picture Lauren had on her desk,” Cara said.

I looked up at Lauren in surprise.

“You were the daughter,” I said plainly.

“You knew?” Both women said in unison.

Both women looked back at me in shock.

I nodded, sinking into the chair behind my desk. My hand went to my hair as I took a deep breath.

“I’d always had my suspicions,” I said. “I remember finding a receipt for two necklaces in my dad’s coat, but my mother only received one. Then, there were the phone calls and little things like that.

“Nothing was confirmed until recently though. On the day of Jude’s wedding, we all headed out to get haircuts and a shave—some sort of male-bonding ritual to keep the groom from skipping town or something.”

Cara grinned, shaking her head.

“When we were there, the owner recognized Jude, saying he looked familiar. When he said he used to have a regular customer who looked just like him, I knew. Jude just shook it off, but I didn’t. Dad hadn’t just had an affair; he’d had another life. I went back later and asked the barber for more info, and he took me in the back where he had dozens of old albums. He loved his customers dearly. He went through several until he found what he was looking for. A single picture of my father, freshly cut, standing there with his family. His other family. It was you and your mother. I recognize her from this,” I said, holding up the newspaper article.

“He was my dad for years,” she whispered.

“How old were you? When he first…” I asked, swallowing a lump in my throat.

“I was maybe six when he showed up. Old enough to remember but too young to realize that he wasn’t going to stick around. I guess that same logic could have been applied to my mother as well. He’d make appearances every other week or so, bringing my mom flowers and showering her with gifts… like necklaces,” she confirmed.

I nodded sadly.