Our Dirty Little Secret

Blindside

Kenzie’s POV

“WE ARE GETTING MARRIED.”

The moment those words fell out of Anna and Dad’s mouths, my stomach dropped.

“What?” River and I said in unison.

“It happened so soon,” Anna said, grinning.

“You think?” I scoffed.

I couldn’t bear to look at their faces, so I ran to my room. Each step felt heavy. Ever since Anna stepped into our lives, Dad has made decisions without involving me. First, he kept her a secret for five years. Then he told Liam—not me. And now he’s getting married to her.

What hurts the most is that we spoke, and he didn’t mention a marriage. He acted like everything was fine, then sprang a wedding on me like it was nothing.

My phone buzzes on the counter, shifting my thoughts momentarily, but I ignore it. I’m not in the right headspace to hold a conversation with anyone. It buzzes again, louder this time. I try to ignore it, but curiosity gets the better of me.

Liam.

He lied to me. The big question is why?

Liam: Hey

Liam: Babby

Liam: Kenz

Liam: Hey baby

Liam: Please talk to me

“It’s fine.”

The lie sits there on the screen, thin and pathetic.

A second passes. Then another.

Liam: Baby

Me: Liam, I said it’s fine

Me: I’m tired. I need to go to bed

The dots appear instantly. He doesn’t even hesitate.

Liam: Kenzie

Liam: Talk to me.

I don’t type a response back. I just lie on my bed and wait for sleep that doesn’t come.

My mind drifts back to the table.

Anna’s voice. Dad clearing his throat. The way the word married landed between us like it was waiting for permission to exist.

And then—

River’s hand.

It wasn’t rough; for some weird reason, it felt comforting. It was just there—quiet, grounding—when everything else felt like it was slipping out of control. For a brief moment, I didn’t feel like I was about to shatter.

That’s the part that stays with me now.

Not the shouting. Not the word married echoing in my head.

Just the fact that someone noticed I was drowning and tried, quietly, to keep me afloat.

I roll onto my side, pulling my knees toward my chest. The house is silent now—too silent—like everyone’s pretending nothing happened. Like a bomb didn’t just go off at the dinner table.

My phone buzzes again.

I groan softly and shove it under my pillow, muffling the sound. I don’t want to read Liam’s messages. I don’t want to see the excuses or apologies he’s probably typing out in a panic.

Because none of it changes the fact that he knew.

Maybe not everything. Maybe not the wedding date or the details or whatever else Dad and Anna have planned. But enough to stay quiet. Enough to let me walk into that dinner blind.

That hurts more than I want to admit.

I stare at the wall, tracing invisible patterns with my eyes, trying to slow my thoughts. But my mind refuses to settle. It keeps circling back to the same questions, the same realizations stacking on top of each other until my chest feels tight.

How long has this been planned?

How many conversations happened without me?

How many times did Dad sit across from Anna, talking about a future that apparently didn’t require my input?

I press my palm against my chest, trying to ease the pressure there.

It feels like I’ve been demoted in my own life.

I sit up abruptly, swinging my legs off the bed, and pace the room. My fingers brush over familiar things as I pass—my desk cluttered with notebooks, the hoodie hanging off the back of my chair, the bookshelf Dad helped me put together years ago.

I stop in front of the mirror.

I barely recognize the girl staring back at me. Her eyes look tired, rimmed with red. Her shoulders are tense, like she’s bracing for another hit. I lift a hand and press my fingers to the glass, grounding myself in the reflection.

Get it together, I tell myself.

But I don’t feel together. I feel displaced. Like I’ve already been moved out of a space I didn’t realize was temporary.

My gaze drifts to the framed photo on my dresser—me and Dad at the beach, sunburned and laughing, his arm thrown around my shoulders like that was where it belonged. I pick it up, turning it over in my hands.

We look happy. Comfortable. Like we were enough.

I flip the frame face-down and set it back where it was.

The house creaks softly, settling for the night. Somewhere down the hall, a door closes. Voices murmur, too low for me to make out the words. They sound calm. Normal.

Like nothing monumental just happened.

The unfairness of that stings.

I crawl back onto my bed and curl into myself, pulling the blanket up to my chin even though I’m not cold. I think about the move—two weeks left. Two weeks until boxes and goodbyes and a new place that doesn’t feel like mine yet.

In a few days, this house will change permanently.

I don’t know where I fit into that future. I don’t know what my role is supposed to be now—his daughter or an afterthought.

My phone vibrates again beneath the pillow.

I pull it out this time, more annoyed than curious. The screen lights up with Liam’s name, followed by a string of unread messages. I don’t open them. I just stare at his name, my thumb hovering over the screen.

I think about all the times he promised to be honest with me. About the way he always says he hates secrets. About how he looked at me the last time we talked—so normal, so calm.

I lock the phone and toss it back onto the bed.

Not tonight.

Tonight, I don’t trust myself to read his words without breaking something—inside me or between us.

I lie back and stare at the ceiling again, the c***k above my door coming back into focus. It’s strange how familiar things suddenly feel foreign when the ground shifts beneath you.

My thoughts drift, uninvited, back to the table. To the way Dad cleared his throat. To the way Anna leaned forward, eager, expectant. To the way my voice sounded when I asked if my opinion even mattered—too calm, like I already knew the answer.

They said it did.

But actions speak louder than words, and their actions told me everything.

I turn onto my side again, hugging the pillow to my chest. Sleep still doesn’t come. My mind keeps replaying the same truth, no matter how hard I try to avoid it.

This wasn’t just an announcement.

It was a line being drawn.

And somehow, without anyone asking, I ended up on the wrong side of it.