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Phones were out. People stared. My face burned.
I sat.
They finished the vows, shaky. They kissed. Everyone cheered. I sat there realizing I’d just set myself on fire in public and still failed.
Anything I said after that would only sound bitter.
“Can we talk?”
At the reception, I stayed near the back wall, pretending to sip champagne. Emily danced like she was determined to be happy. Mark stayed close to her, hand on her back.
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Eventually, he walked toward me, tugging at his tie.
“Can we talk?” he asked.
“I think you’ve said enough.”
“Please,” he said. “Five minutes.”
“I’m not the Mark you think I am.”
He led me out a side door into the cool night. Music thumped behind us.
He dropped his hand from my arm.
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“I’m finally ready to tell you the truth,” he said. “I’ve been waiting probably more than 20 years.”
I snorted. “What were you, plotting revenge in preschool?”
He gave a humorless laugh. “No. But my dad never got over you.”
I frowned. “What?”
“You let me believe you were him.”
“I’m not the Mark you think I am,” he said quietly. “I’m his son.”
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The world tilted.
“Come again?”
“I’m Mark Jr.,” he said. “Your Mark—my dad—is Mark Sr. He had me right after you left for college.”
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