I thought coming home after years abroad would be joyful—laughter, hugs, maybe even happy tears. I timed it perfectly for a family gathering, eager to see everyone. But the moment I walked through the door, silence fell.
Not the joyful kind. The heavy, guilty kind.
“Uh… surprise?” I said with a nervous smile.
My mom hugged me stiffly. “You should’ve called first.”
“Figured I’d surprise you.”
My dad muttered, “Some surprises are… unexpected.”
I frowned.
Then I noticed—Emily wasn’t there.
I hadn’t seen my sister in three years. I asked, “Where’s Em?”
Silence.
My great-aunt chirped, “You’ll finally meet your nephew today!”
I froze. “My… what?”
Everyone avoided my eyes. My heart pounded. “Emily doesn’t have a—”
Knock, knock.
The door opened.
Emily stepped in—and beside her stood a little boy, no older than three, clutching her hand. He had my ex-fiancé’s eyes.
And then Nathan walked in behind them.
I could barely breathe. “Emily… who is that?”
No one answered. But I already knew.
I turned to Emily, rage rising. “How long have you been lying to me?”
No one spoke. My mother tried to intervene. “We wanted to tell you, but you were hurting…”
“So you lied?” I snapped. “Let me walk into this like it was some happy surprise?”
Emily whispered, “It wasn’t like that…”
But it was. It was exactly like that.
And then the worst part:
“We blocked you,” Emily admitted.
My heart stopped. “You what?”
“To protect you,” she said.
“You erased me.”
They had all known. My family had smiled, celebrated, built a new life—without me.
I wasn’t part of their story anymore. Just a secret they buried.
I shook my head. “I spent years wondering why he left me. And the people who knew… were the ones I trusted most.”
Emily tried to speak again.
I stopped her.
“You already did.”