The question hits harder than any accusation. "That's not fair."
"Life isn't fair, Mia. You should know that by now." She crosses back to the table and sits, reaching for my hands. Her fingers are cold against mine. "I'm not saying what you feel isn't real. I'm saying you need to think about the cost. About what this scandal will do to Rory and Corey when they're old enough to understand."
My throat tightens. "The twins are happy. They love all three men."
"Now they do. But what happens when their classmates start whispering? When other parents won't let their children come over for playdates? When they realize their mother is the subject of town gossip?" Mom's voice cracks. "You're not just choosing for yourself, sweetheart. You're choosing for them, too."
The truth of her words settles over me like a heavy blanket. "What do you want me to do? Give them up? Pretend I don't love them?"
"I want you to think." She squeezes my hands. "Really think about whether this is worth the price everyone is paying."
She sighs and shakes her head. "You should go see your father. He's at County General. Room 304. He might not want to see you, but you should try."
The drive to the hospital passes in a blur of guilt and fear. I park in the visitor lot and sit in my car for ten minutes, trying to gather courage I don't feel.
Inside, the hospital smells like antiseptic and despair. I take the elevator to the third floor, my legs unsteady as I walk down the corridor. Room 304 appears too quickly, the door slightly ajar.
I push it open slowly, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Dad lies in the hospital bed, tubes and wires connecting him to various machines that beep softly. His eyes are closed, his breathing labored.
"Dad?" My voice comes out as a whisper.
His eyes open slowly, focusing on me. For a moment, I see recognition, maybe even relief. Then his expression hardens, and he turns his face away.
"I can't even look at you right now," he says, his voice rough and weak.
The rejection cuts deeper than any words could. "Dad, please. Let me explain."
"Explain what?" He still won't look at me. "Explain how you lied to me for ten years? How you're making a mockery of everything I taught you about honor and integrity?"
Tears stream down my face. "I never meant to hurt you."
"But you did." His hand clenches the blanket. "You hurt me worse than this cancer ever could. Now please leave. I need to rest."
"Dad ..."
"Leave, Mia." His voice breaks on my name. "Just leave."
I stumble out of the room, barely making it to the bathroom before the sobs overtake me. I lean against the sink, staring at my reflection through blurred vision. My mother's words echo in my head. My father's rejection burns in my chest.
By the time I arrive at Jack's house that evening, I'm emotionally wrung out. My eyes are swollen from crying, and my hands shake as I knock on the door.
Jack opens it immediately, his hazel eyes darkening with concern when he sees my face. "Come here." He pulls me into his arms, and I collapse against his broad chest, feeling the solid strength of him.
Blake and Noah are already inside, both standing when they see me. Blake's muscular frame fills out his coaching polo in a way that would normally make my mouth water, but right now I just need the comfort of their presence. Noah's green eyes are worried behind his glasses as he moves closer.
"What happened?" Jack asks, guiding me to the couch.
I tell them everything. My mother's disappointment. My father's rejection. The weight of guilt crushing me from all sides. They listen without interrupting, their hands finding mine, my shoulders, my back.
"The school board is investigating all of us," Jack says when I finish. His jaw is tight with barely controlled anger. "Kyle's parents are threatening a lawsuit. They claim we've been harassing their son."
"My game was canceled," Blake adds, his brown eyes fierce. "The athletic director made it clear it's a message. They're punishing me for standing by you."
"And I'm being accused of creating a hostile environment," Noah says quietly. "Kyle has journals, photographs, and manufactured evidence that makes us all look guilty."
Blake leans forward, elbows on his knees. "So what's our play? We can't just sit here and let them run up the score."
