Page 64 of The Moment I Knew

Lavender’s expression softened for a heartbeat—then hardened into something resolute. “I get that. I really do. But wanting it doesn’t make it right.”

“He’s trying,” I insisted. “He messed up, but he’s trying now. People deserve second chances.”

“He cheated on her,” Lavender snapped, the restraint finally cracking. “For months. He didn’t just make a mistake—he made choices. Over and over again.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t love her,” I said, my voice breaking. “Or us.”

Lavender stared at me. “And that doesn’t mean Mum has to settle for someone who broke her heart just because it would make you feel better.”

“That’s not what I mean,” I whispered.

“It’s how it sounds,” she shot back. “She deserves more than going back to a man who only realized what he lost after it was gone.”

I shook my head, tears stinging now. “You don’t get it.”

“I do,” Lavender said quietly. “I just don’t agree with you.”

Something sharp twisted in my chest.

“You never do,” I shot back before I could stop myself.

Lavender blinked. “That’s not fair.”

“It feels fair,” I said, my voice rising despite my effort to keep it steady. “Every time I talk about Dad, you look at me like I’m stupid for even trying.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” she said, jaw tightening. “I’m trying to protect Mum.”

“And I’m not?” I demanded. “I’m her kid too.”

Lavender let out a breath, rubbing her temple. “Imogen, protecting someone doesn’t mean dragging them back into something that hurt them.”

“He hurt all of us,” I snapped. “But he’s still our dad.”

“Yes,” Lavender said firmly. “And he’s also the man who lied to her face. Who let her believe things were fine while he was seeing someone else.”

My throat burned. “People change.”

“Sometimes,” Lavender said. “But Mum already gave him years to change. She doesn’t owe him anything else.”

“I’m not saying she owes him,” I said, hands curling into fists. “I’m saying maybe she still loves him. Maybe she just needs a reminder.”

Lavender stared at me like I’d said something unforgivable. “That’s not your reminder to give.”

The words landed heavy and final.

“So what,” I said, shaking now, “you think I should just give up on him? On our family?”

“I think,” Lavender said carefully, “that you’re clinging to the version of Dad you remember because it’s easier than accepting the one he actually was.”

“That’s not true,” I said, my voice breaking. “You don’t know what he’s like now.”

“I know what he was like when Mum was crying in the bathroom at three in the morning,” Lavender shot back. “I know what it was like picking up the pieces while he was off pretending everything was fine.”

I flinched like she’d slapped me.

“That’s not fair,” I whispered.

Lavender’s expression faltered for just a second—but she didn’t take it back. “It’s the truth.”