The weight of the folder in my hands was unbearable. Every piece of paper it held seemed to pull me deeper into a dark well of uncertainty, and I couldn't breathe. My mother's name stared back at me in ink, entangled with words I didn't want to believe.
I sat on the edge of the bed in Damien's study, the folder open in my lap. Damien stood across from me, leaning against the desk, his arms crossed. He hadn't spoken much since Victor had stormed out of the room, but his presence was steady, anchoring me.
The letters I had just read were intimate, filled with longing and regret, and signed by a man who wasn't my father. The insinuations Victor had made about my mother's infidelity now seemed horribly plausible.
"Say something," I whispered, my voice trembling.
Damien's dark eyes softened. "What do you want me to say?" he asked gently. "That Victor is lying? That this is all a fabrication?"
