Lily Thompson
The papers were still on the table where I had left them, stacked in uneven piles like they were waiting for me to stop running from them.
It wasn’t just about me anymore. If it had only been about me, maybe I would’ve walked away already. But I had Isabella now.
If I didn’t fight for this inheritance, what kind of world would I leave for her? Would she grow up watching me bow to fear the way I watched my mother bow her whole life? Would I let history repeat itself, swallowing us whole?
The truth was, I was scared. Scared that fighting for it meant opening wounds I had tried to stitch shut for years. Scared it would drag Isabella into a war she was too young to understand. But more than that, I was scared that if I didn’t fight, she would grow up thinking it was okay to l
