Chapter 5: What My Father Said
I called my father the next morning from Nora's kitchen, before the light had fully come through the windows.
Nora was still asleep.
Gerald was on the counter, which he was not supposed to be.
My father answered on the second ring.
"Jules." His voice was careful.
Rehearsed, almost.
"Thank you for calling."
"You witnessed the alteration order," I said.
No greeting.
No warmth.
"At Atelier Fontaine.
Your signature is on the document."
A pause.
"Yes."
"Did you also sign the release at Ashcombe Glasshouse?"
A longer pause.
"Dad."
"Your mother handled most of the venue arrangements," he said.
"That isn't what I asked."
"Jules, this is—"
"Did you sign it?"
"I was present," he said finally.
"When your mother signed it.
I didn't — I wasn't the one who—"
"Was my name on the release?"
He didn't answer.
"Dad.
Was my name used on that release without my knowledge?"
"Your mother felt it was simpler," he said.
"To avoid a confrontation.
She thought if the booking was just transferred quietly, we could explain everything afterward and—"
"Afterward," I said.
"Jules—"
"After the wedding?
After Sienna walked down the aisle in my dress to my venue on my date?
That afterward?"
I heard him exhale.
"She didn't think you'd react this way."
"How did she think I'd react?"
"She thought—" He stopped.
Started again.
"She thought you'd be upset, yes.
But she thought, eventually, you'd understand.
That Sienna and Graham are—"
"Don't tell me they're meant for each other," I said.
"Please don't say that to me."
Silence.
"I need to know something," I said.
"And I need you to tell me the truth.
Not Mom's version.
Yours."
"All right."
"Did anyone, at any point, ask my permission for any of this?
Did anyone in this family come to me and say: Juliet, we need to tell you something.
Did anyone give me the choice to respond like a human being instead of just — rearranging things around me while I sat at home embroidering?"
The silence that followed was its own answer.
"I see," I said.
"Juliet, I love you.
You know that."
"I do know that," I said.
"And I need you to understand that loving me and what this family did to me are two things that are going to have to exist very uncomfortably side by side for a very long time."
I heard something shift in his breathing.
"I'm going to need the name of your solicitor," I said.
"My solicitor — why?"
"Because someone signed my name on a venue release without my consent.
And I would like to understand what my options are." I kept my voice very calm.
"I'm not calling the police today.
I'm not doing anything dramatic today.
I am asking for a name."
Another long silence.
"His name is Francis Doyle," my father said quietly.
"He's in the directory.
Tell him I said to take your call."
"Thank you."
"Jules." His voice broke slightly on the second syllable.
Just slightly.
"I am sorry.
I want you to know that.
Whatever else you believe right now — I am genuinely sorry."
I looked out Nora's kitchen window at the pale morning light on the garden.
"I know you are, Dad," I said.
"I'll call you when I'm ready."
I hung up.
Gerald jumped down from the counter and wound himself around my ankles, purring at a frequency that seemed designed to vibrate the grief loose from somewhere in the chest.
I stood there for a moment in the quiet kitchen, both hands flat on the counter.
May you like
Then I found Francis Doyle in the directory and dialed.
He answered before I was ready, and I told him everything anyway.
