And my father? He didn't even have the decency to look guilty. He told my mother to be more gracious about it.
Frederick Sullivan is only two years younger than me.
My mother spent over two decades building that family for my father. And today she learned her husband had been betraying her the entire time.
Delia Lambert, our housekeeper, had been uneasy. She called me while I was out picking up the anniversary cake.
I broke every speed limit getting home.
I was too late.
My mother stepped off the rooftop terrace just as I pulled into the driveway. Her body hit the hood of my car. Blood sprayed across the windshield.
While I was drowning in grief, barely holding myself together to arrange her funeral, my father was busy consoling his mistress.
And my devoted wife? She wanted to "comfort" the son of the woman who killed my mother?
A thought sliced through me—ugly and undeniable.
"Rosemary." I watched her face carefully. "You already knew Frederick. You knew exactly who he was. Didn't you?"
"I..."
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her eyes betrayed her.
Frederick stepped forward quickly, positioning himself between us. "Roland—brother—don't blame Rosemary. Dad and I asked her to keep it quiet. We didn't want to upset you. We were going to tell you when the time was right."
His voice turned conciliatory, almost gentle. "She and I were at the same university. We... dated, briefly. But her family forced her to come back for an arranged marriage, so we broke up."
He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I swear I'm not trying to take her from you. I just—today was a shock. I never imagined your mother would... do something so drastic."
Rosemary said nothing. Her silence was confirmation enough.
The absurdity of it crashed over me like ice water.
She knew. She'd known all along that my father had a secret son, and she'd kept it from me.
If I'd found out sooner, maybe I could have prevented this. Maybe I could have protected my mother from that ambush.
Maybe she'd still be alive.
My silence stretched. Frederick rushed to fill it.
"Roland, Mom and I genuinely wanted to pay our respects. No matter what anyone says, your mother did die because of us. I feel terrible about it."
Frederick's voice dripped with false sincerity.
"But I just graduated—I can't afford an expensive gift. So let me sing you a song instead. As an apology. Would that be alright?"