დ Rosalie დ
My mother stared at me like she was standing at the edge of a cliff. For one second, I thought she might lie again. Cry. Deflect. Tell me she was too tired, too sick, too overwhelmed. I was already bracing for it. But then she surprised me.
“Thomas was never your biological father,” the room didn’t move. I did. Something in me lurched so hard I had to grab the back of the chair near the coffee table to steady myself. My fingers slipped against the wood. My stomach turned sharp and violent, and for a second, I genuinely thought I might be sick right there on the rug. I stared at her.
“No,” it wasn’t even a denial. It was just a sound. She closed her eyes briefly.
“Rosalie—”
“No,” this time the word came out louder. Harder, and my throat burned around it. I took two steps b
