Chapter 12
The next day, when the storm of revelation had settled into a heavy silence, Freen and Becky sat in Freen’s cabin, lost in thought. The weight of the truth had shaken their entire world, and as much as they had demanded honesty, the aftermath was far worse than they had imagined. Their fathers had lived in secrecy for decades, torn between love and duty. Their mothers—blissfully unaware—had built a life, a family, a home around a lie.
The harsh reality was clear: Any step forward would destroy something. If their dads confessed, it would be like a cosmic reset, rewriting the very foundation of their families. But if they remained silent, they would be accomplices in the same deception that had robbed their mothers of the truth for so long.
Freen exhaled deeply, staring at the ceiling. “We can’t leave it like this.”
Becky nodded, her voice firm but carrying the weight of hesitation. “No, we can’t. But… Freen, this isn’t just about telling the truth anymore. We’ve already cracked open the past. What we do next could shatter everything.”
Freen looked over at her, something unspoken passing between them. “We believe love is love, right?”
Becky swallowed. “Yes.”
“And that means love shouldn’t be hidden.” Freen added softly, watching Becky flinch at the weight of her words.
A moment of silence stretched between them before Becky finally sighed. “Then we have to talk to them. Our dads… they’re still in denial. Still afraid.”
“They’re still choosing secrecy over truth.”
“And that’s not the way forward.”
They exchanged a knowing look. There was only one thing left to do.
Even though their entire conversation was a reference to their dads' equation, it perfectly fit both of them too—the way they had lived so long in denial about their feelings for each other, the way they had kept the truth hidden, the way they had chosen secrecy over honesty. They could both decipher the entire conversation from their own perspectives as well, but neither of them said it aloud. Instead, they silently took note, determined not to repeat the same mistakes their dads had made.
Later that evening, Freen and Becky requested a private meeting with their fathers at a high-end restaurant, away from prying eyes. Their request had come as a surprise, but both men agreed, though with caution.
A private lounge was arranged—dimly lit, closed off from the rest of the dining area, the kind of place where people whispered about affairs and business deals behind velvet curtains. The atmosphere carried an eerie quietness, as if even the walls were bracing for what was to come.
Freen and Becky arrived first, waiting in tense silence. When their fathers entered, there was an undeniable stiffness between them, an unspoken caution that had become second nature over the years.
Mr. Armstrong cleared his throat, eyeing both of them warily. “What’s this about?”
Mr. Chankimha sat beside him, his posture rigid, his fingers tapping against the table—a nervous habit Freen had inherited.
Becky didn’t waste time. “You know what this is about.”
Both men stiffened.
Freen leaned forward. “You need to tell them.”
Their fathers exchanged glances, something flickering between them—guilt, fear, an unspoken plea.
“You don’t understand,” Mr. Armstrong started, his voice low.
“No, we do,” Becky interrupted. “We understand all of it. The secrecy, the fear, the choices you made. But what we don’t understand is why you’re still choosing to lie. You love each other, don’t you?”
Her father’s face tensed. “Becky—”
“Don’t ‘Becky’ me. Answer the question.”
Silence.
Then, finally, Mr. Chankimha sighed, looking at Freen. “Yes. We do.”
Freen exhaled sharply, pressing her fingers into her temples. Hearing it aloud, after all these years, felt like both a relief and a fresh wound.
“So, you love each other,” Becky said, her voice steadier than she expected. “But instead of facing the truth, you married our moms. You had us. And all this time, you chose to live a lie.”
Mr. Armstrong's jaw clenched. “It wasn’t that simple.”
“No, it was,” Freen countered. “You were scared. You let society dictate your choices, and now, after all these years, you're still scared.”
Their fathers looked away, but their silence was confirmation enough.
Becky inhaled deeply. “We’re not here to judge. But we are here to ask—what do you plan to do now? Keep living in denial? Keep pretending?”
Mr. Armstrong’s voice was barely above a whisper. “We can’t ruin everything.”
Becky’s expression hardened. “You already did.”
The words hit like a slap, and the room fell deathly silent.
Finally, Mr. Chankimha spoke, his voice weary. “We don’t want to break our families apart.”
“But it already is,” Freen said, her voice thick with emotion. “Our mothers deserve to know. They deserve the truth. You can’t keep them in the dark just because it’s easier for you.”
“They won’t understand,” Mr. Armstrong argued, his voice rising slightly.
“Then let them decide that,” Becky shot back. “They deserve that choice.”
A long, agonizing silence followed.
Then, finally, their fathers nodded.
“We’ll tell them,” Mr. Chankimha said, though the fear in his eyes remained.
Freen and Becky exhaled together, knowing this was just the beginning.
“But you know what that’s going to do to our entire family,” Mr. Armstrong said, his voice heavy with the weight of reality.
“Yeah, Dad, but that’s the nature of truth,” Becky said, reaching for his hand. “We’re in this together.”
“Yes, no matter what comes after this, we’ll face it together,” Freen added, her voice steady. “For everyone’s peace of mind. Our moms deserve a life of honesty, too. And it’s high time you two live together as if love is not a curse but a blessing. Everyone deserves to love openly, proudly.”
Mr. Chankimha’s eyes welled up. The years of secrecy, of stolen moments, of love buried beneath fear—it was all laid bare now.
“I never said it before, but today, you proved me wrong,” he said, his voice breaking. “Even though I, as a parent, failed you, I just want to say—I’m proud of you, Freen.”
A tear slipped down his cheek, and Mr. Armstrong wiped it away, their silent understanding speaking louder than words.
“Let’s promise one thing here,” Mr. Armstrong said after a long pause. “No matter what happens after this, promise us that you won’t leave your moms alone in their pain.”
“We won’t leave anyone, Dad,” Becky assured him. “We love you both, and we love our moms too. We want your happiness, but we also want our moms to have peace of mind. Don’t worry—we’re in this together.”
Mr. Armstrong let out a shaky breath, then pulled Becky into a tight embrace.
“I’m so fortunate to have a daughter like you,” he whispered. “I wish I had been as daring, as courageous. But maybe it’s time to learn from my own daughter.”
Becky felt his warmth, the weight of his love, and for the first time, she let herself cry freely in his arms.
And somehow, in all this chaos, Freen and Becky found a kind of peace they had never known before. For years, they had been fighting silent battles, struggling to earn love, to be seen, to be accepted by their own dads. And today, as they stood before them—being loved, being respected—they realized something.
Tomorrow, they might lose everything. Their family might break apart. But today… Today, they had won something they never thought possible. Respect from their fathers. A weight has been lifted, another may add up.. But the only way to find out is to be on the side of truth. Choosing to do the right thing.
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The weekend approached faster than any of them had anticipated, and with it came the long-awaited family dinner—the night that would change everything. The tension was unspoken, yet it lingered in the air like a quiet storm waiting to break.
Mr. Armstrong’s house, grand yet intimate, stood at the center of it all. The dining room was bathed in a warm glow from the overhead chandelier, its golden light casting soft shadows against the deep mahogany walls. Large floor-to-ceiling windows framed the night sky, the city lights twinkling beyond like silent witnesses to the inevitable truth about to unfold.
The dining table, long enough to seat a dozen but intimate enough to feel personal, was set for six. Freshly polished silverware gleamed under the dim lighting, and fine porcelain plates were neatly arranged atop woven placemats. A centerpiece of white lilies and deep red roses sat in the middle—Mr. Armstrong’s usual choice, as he believed the contrast of purity and passion mirrored the essence of family.
A faint scent of roasted vegetables and simmering herbs filled the air, mingling with the rich aroma of freshly baked bread. The house staff had outdone themselves, preparing a meal fit for celebration—yet the undercurrent of dread made it feel more like a feast before battle.
Freen and Becky sat across from each other, their eyes meeting for a moment, both reading the same emotions in the other—determination, anxiety, and an unspoken promise to stand together. Their mothers, oblivious to the storm brewing, chatted lightly, their laughter soft but distant, as if from another world. The fathers, however, sat in near silence, their expressions unreadable, their hands resting tensely on their laps.
It was a beautifully set table. A perfectly planned dinner.
And yet, the weight of the truth hung in the air, thick and suffocating, waiting for the moment it would shatter the fragile illusion of normalcy.
Someone had to start. So Becky took a deep breath and stepped forward.
"Mom, Dad has something to tell you," she said carefully.
Her mother turned to her father, eyes bright with curiosity. "What is it? Good news?" she asked excitedly.
But Becky's father only lowered his gaze, guilt written all over his face.
Freen, sensing the hesitation, spoke up. "Even my dad has something to say to you, Mom."
Freen’s mother clapped her hands together. "Oh my, both of you have a surprise for us? Don’t keep us waiting!" she said, eager for what she thought would be a pleasant revelation.
But the tension in the air was thick. Mr. Armstrong wiped the sweat from his forehead, while Mr. Chankimha struggled to find the right words.
"Well? Say it already," Freen’s mother urged, still smiling.
Mr. Armstrong took a deep breath, his voice cracking as he spoke.
"We have been keeping a truth from you our whole lives."
The room fell silent. Becky’s mother frowned. "What truth?"
Mr. Chankimha exhaled sharply, then said it all in one breath.
"Mr. Armstrong and I—we are, and always have been, in love."
For a moment, there was nothing. Then, both mothers burst into laughter.
"Oh, stop it," Becky’s mother chuckled. "You really think we’d fall for that?"
"Come on, you two. We may be getting older, but we’re not that gullible," Freen’s mother added, wiping a tear from laughing so hard.
But Becky reached for her mother’s hand, gripping it tightly. "Mom," she said softly.
Something in her voice made both mothers pause. Their laughter faded as they looked at their daughters—serious, unwavering. And then at their husbands—silent, avoiding their gaze, their faces pale with guilt.
Becky’s mother swallowed. "What do you mean… our whole life?"
Freen’s mother’s voice wavered. "Is this a joke? Swear on Freen’s life—tell me the truth."
"It’s true," Mr. chankimha admitted.
Freen’s mother inhaled sharply. "You’re lying," she whispered.
"No, we’re not," Mr. Chankimha said. "But before this truth shatters everything, please… let us explain."
The weight of the moment settled over them. Both women exchanged a glance, their hands unconsciously finding each other. Their entire world was shifting beneath their feet.
They didn’t speak.
That was the fathers’ cue to continue.
"We were always this way," Mr. Armstrong began. "We were born this way. But in our time, it was a shame even to acknowledge it—to ourselves, let alone to others."
"Our whole lives, we battled it," Mr. Chankimha added, his voice heavy with emotion. "We carried guilt, shame, denial. It was unthinkable to even dream of a life together."
Becky and Freen held their mothers close as silent tears began to spill.
"But then we met," Mr. Armstrong continued. "In college. And we couldn’t fight it anymore. Love doesn’t ask for permission—it just happens."
"We loved each other," Mr. Chankimha said, voice breaking. "We lived as any normal couple would—except in secrecy. Because there was no other way."
The pain in their voices was raw, tangible.
"But then came the time for marriage and we were the only child of our parents so the weight of expectation and pressure to be good," Mr. Armstrong continued. "we… we didn’t have the courage to say no. How could we, when we couldn’t even admit it to ourselves? Society didn’t give us a choice."
Mr. Chankimha wiped at his eyes. "So, we did what was expected. We got married. To you. We broke up, thinking it was over, thinking we could move on." He looked at his wife, his expression unreadable. "We wanted to love you the way you deserved. You were kind, beautiful souls. You treated us with love and devotion. But no matter how hard we tried… we could never feel the same."
Becky’s mother let out a small, strangled sound—something between a gasp and a sob.
"We tried to live separate lives," Mr. Armstrong admitted. "But the weight of it—the pretending, the lies—it was unbearable. So we found a way to stay close. We started a business together, telling ourselves that love doesn’t have to mean possession. That we could exist side by side without acting on it."
"But love doesn’t work like that," Mr. Chankimha whispered. "The pull was always there, stronger than before. And eventually… we gave in."
Freen’s mother clutched her chest as if trying to steady her heart.
"We swore to keep it a secret," Mr. Armstrong confessed. "To give you both all the happiness in the world, to be good husbands, good fathers. But we lived with guilt every single day." He turned toward his wife, eyes pleading. "And then we had you—our daughters. And we were determined to take this secret to our graves. Because it was the only way to protect you all."
Mr. Chankimha nodded, his voice hoarse. "And a few days ago, Freen and Becky found out about us. They told us we couldn’t keep living like this—keeping you in the dark. Not anymore."
A silence heavier than words filled the space between them.
Becky’s mother was shaking. "So what now?" she whispered.
"We don’t know," Mr. Armstrong admitted. "But whatever happens next… we will do as you say. We owe you everything. If you want us gone, we will go. If you want us to fix this, we will try. But please… tell us how to make this hurt less."
Tears streamed down both mothers’ faces.
But there was no answer.
Because how do you mend a life built on a lie?