დ Rosalie დ
My mother cried quietly for a long time before she spoke again. I didn’t comfort her. I stood near the doorway with my arms wrapped around myself and my whole body buzzing with the kind of shock that felt too big to settle anywhere. My heartbeat hadn’t slowed. My hands still trembled now and then, though I kept them tight against my ribs so she wouldn’t see.
Julian Ashford.
My father.
The truth kept hitting me in waves.
Each one worse than the last.
When my mother finally looked up, her face was pale and wet, and something in her expression had gone beyond fear. It was grief now. Old grief. The kind that had lived inside her for so long it had become part of her shape.
“We were in love,” she whispered. The words made my stomach turn. Not because I didn’t believe her. Bec
