Rhys finds himself embroiled in a conflict over heritage, deceit, and blood following the funeral of the only guy who has ever fully seen him. As secrets are revealed and loyalties are tested, he discovers that family isn’t always defined by who shares your DNA… it’s who shows up when everyone else goes missing.
The day we buried my grandfather, the sky felt as if it had grabbed the weight of my chest and stretched it over the clouds, tight, gray, and cracked.
I stood motionless next to his casket, as individuals I hardly knew exchanged prepared condolences and tight-lipped nods. They caressed my shoulder as if it would break, as if they were testing how sadness felt on someone who had never truly belonged to anyone other than the man in the wooden box.
Grandpa Ezra had been more than just a grandfather.
He was my pal… my safe haven. And he was the only true adult to look me in the eyes when I spoke.
My mother, Lenora, was usually too preoccupied to hear me, alternating between charity activities and her always ringing phone. My father drowned himself in bourbon years ago, before his liver eventually failed.
I’d never said it out, but a part of me had always felt off… like I didn’t quite fit the mold of the man I was told was my father.
My sister, Marianne, had spent our entire childhood nurturing the kind of silent resentment that grew in the shadows and poisoned everything it touched.
