Page 96 of The Moment I Knew

“No,” I said. “She’s being honest. You’re the one who keeps pretending this is something else.”

Hilary’s eyes flashed and she wrapped her arms around her stomach. “I am pregnant. My priority is my child.”

“And I was his child first,” I said, turning back to Dad. “Or do priorities expire?”

“That’s not how it works,” he said, his voice strained. “There’s room for both of you.”

“Where?” I asked, arms flailing at my sides to gesture to the room. “Show me.”

Hilary scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re being dramatic.”

I laughed softly. “You replaced the throw pillows before you replaced my bed.”

That finally shut her up.

Dad looked like he’d been punched. “I didn’t realize⁠—”

“You never do,” I said. “That’s the problem.”

He stepped toward me. “We can fix this. We’ll get you a proper bed. We’ll make the room nicer.”

“For how long?” I asked. “Until the baby needs more space? Until I’m inconvenient?”

“That’s not what this is about,” Hilary said sharply. “You’re sixteen. You’re almost grown.”

“You’re right. I’m old enough to know that other people’s boyfriends and husbands are off limits—a lesson you still haven’t learned.”

“Imogen!” Dad snapped. It was the angriest I’d ever heard him be with me and yet, somehow, I still didn’t care. I couldn’t care anymore.

“You don’t get to be angry about this,” I said. “You made this choice.”

“I didn’t choose⁠—”

“You chose every time you didn’t show up,” I said. “Every time you told me to understand. Every time you let me sleep on the floor and told yourself it was fine because I didn’t complain. I’m done making myself smaller. You don’t have to worry about where I’ll sleep anymore.”

“What does that mean?” he asked, fear creeping into his voice.

“It means I won’t be staying here,” I said. “Not as a guest. Not as a compromise.”

He swallowed hard. “You’re my daughter.”

“I know,” I said. “I just wish you acted like it.”

I grabbed my jacket from the chair and headed for the door. This time, I didn’t bother putting my boots on carefully. I shoved my feet into them, clumsy and shaking.

Behind me, Dad said, desperate now, “We’ll figure this out. I promise. We’ll do better. I’ll do better.”

I paused with my hand on the doorknob.

“I hope you do,” I said, without turning around. “But don’t expect me to keep waiting while you figure it out. I just hope for their sake that in sixteen years, you don’t replace this family too.”

The door closed softly behind me, but the sound echoed anyway—final and unmistakable. Then I opened the door and stepped out into the cold, the shout I’d been holding back finally breaking free as a sob.

thirty

The elastic of the goggles snapped against the back of my head as Cole pulled them on me and I winced.

“Too tight?” Cole asked, his mouth twisting into a frown. I couldn’t help but smile at the concern.