Sophie stopped in the hall, hardly able to breathe as she tried to digest what she’d just heard. Shaking her head in bewilderment, she swallowed hard and stepped closer to the partially open lounge door.

‘Why the hell didn’t she tell me?’ she heard Justin say angrily from inside.

‘I don’t know,’ Jess answered, sounding frantic. ‘I don’t know if there’s anything to tell. I know she was unhappy at one point, but she never talked to—’

‘Bullshit!’ Justin cut furiously across her. ‘What am I supposed to do with this, Jess, hey? I mean, what? Carry on as if it’s an inconsequential little detail she forgot to mention? Be there for her and pretend it’s not killing me that I’ve lost my son and my daughter? Jesus Christ. How? Does she even want to be with me?’

‘Justin, please… You need to ask Alicia. Now’s not the time to go into any of this.’

Justin laughed cynically at that. ‘No, you’re right,’ he said bitterly. ‘There never was a right time, I suppose. Not when she was carrying the child she forgot to mention wasn’t mine. Not when she gave birth to her. Not when I held her for the first time, swore to devote my life to protecting her. How about before I walk her down the aisle? How about then, Jess? Will she tell me, do you think, as the bastard who had his eyes and hands all over her steps in to take my place?’

‘Justin, what am I supposed to say?’ Jessica beseeched him. ‘She’s my sister. I can’t betray her trust.’

‘How long did it go on?’ Justin demanded, and then laughed again bitterly. ‘Christ, I must be fucking blind. It’s still going on, isn’t it?’

Sophie stopped listening. Clamping her hands hard to her ears, tears streaming unchecked down her face, she whirled around to fly upstairs to her bedroom.

He wasn’t her father. She felt as if her world had just been ripped from underneath her. Gulping back a sob, she clutched her tummy tight. She felt so nauseous she was sure she was going to throw up. How long had he suspected? How long had he been reluctant to talk to her, to look at her properly? And he had. She’d sensed it. When she’d needed him most, when she’d had nothing but ghosts for company, Luke haunting her dreams, he’d been distant. Not just distracted, but different.

And she… her so-called mother… Sophie had been so worried for her, hurt so much for her, but she obviously didn’t care about anyone! Liar! Lies. All of it.

Who, then, was her father? Who had her mother had some furtive, dirty affair with, while married to the man she’d passed off as her dad? Was it someone Sophie knew? The milkman? The postman? The fucking odd-job man?

It was sick! Sick and disgusting and sad. Why would he put up with that? Why? Stuffing things randomly in her overnight bag, Sophie snatched it up, swiped a hand across her cheeks and headed for the door. She couldn’t talk to him. She just couldn’t. She couldn’t bloody well breathe. Stopping halfway across the room, she paused and scrutinised herself in the mirror. She didn’t even look like him.

She had no idea who she was.

Choking back another sob, she wondered at the cruelty of this happening on the same day they’d buried her baby brother. Half-brother. That realisation hitting her like a blow to the chest, Sophie determined she would never trust either of them again. Ever.

She had to get out. Going with Jessica was her best hope of avoiding him, her father who wasn’t her father and was clearly furious at being deceived into thinking he was. He was probably planning how fast he could get away.

Away from her.

She needed to speak to her mother. She wanted explanations, as if there could possibly be any. But not here. Not now. They’d probably be so busy arguing, or more likely not talking to each other, they wouldn’t even notice her.