“He gave up his whole life for your family,” she said quietly. “I hope you know that.”
Then she got into a silver Honda Civic and drove away.
My family?
I didn’t have a family.
That night, Julian was too weak to eat. I sat beside the hospital bed Tanya had set up in the living room, and I asked him what his sister meant.
He took my hand.
“Claire, I need you to promise me something,” he said. “Someday soon, you’re going to learn something that might make you hate me.”
“I could never—”
“Just promise me. When you find out, read to the end. Don’t stop halfway. Okay?”
“Okay,” I whispered. “I promise.”
Julian died five days later, at 4:12 in the morning, with the porch light on and my hand in his.
The last thing he said to me, so softly I almost missed it, was:
