“Aye, yer a big mawn. How old are ye?” Keegan asks, which has me arching a brow.
“Twenty-one,” I reply, needing to address the obvious. “Did ya know I was alive all this time?”
Imogen draws the lapels of her dressing gown across her chest. “Aye, but yer da—”
“We tried, lad,” Keegan interrupts, sensing the sudden shift in the air.
All I hear are excuses.
“You should have tried harder. How can ya live in there?” I ask, peering at the bungalow with disgust.
“This isn’t our home. It’s our son’s. Yer uncle’s.”
An uncle? I have another uncle.
“He’s on holidays with his family. We’re mindin’ his dogs.”
I don’t know how to process this. I have this entire other family, and they’ve moved on, moved on without me. They’ve made a life without me when all I ever wanted was to make a life with
