Diane's POV
The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting shadows across the room as I slowly drifted to consciousness. My eyes felt swollen and raw, the aftermath of crying myself to sleep. For one blissful moment, I existed in that liminal space between dreaming and waking, where yesterday's revelations hadn't yet resurged in my mind.
Then reality crashed back.
My father wasn't dead. He never had been.
Every memory, every tear I'd shed at his imaginary grave, every Father's Day card I'd written and tucked away in my childhood drawer—all of it based on a lie that had shaped my entire existence.
A soft knock interrupted my spiraling thoughts.
"Diane?" Joan's gentle voice came from the other side of the door. "Are you awake?"
I didn't answer immediately, unsure if I was ready to face another day in this new, fractured reality. But the twins gave a particularly strong kick, as if urging me forward.
