The tension in Mrs. Ryan's living room was suffocating. Collins Walter sat rigidly on the edge of the velvet armchair, his jaw clenched as he stared at the woman who had raised the love of his life. Across from him, Mrs. Ryan dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, her composure finally cracking after their heated argument.
"You can't tell her," Collins had insisted moments before, his voice raw with desperation. "Not now. Not when she's finally happy."
Mrs. Ryan looked up at him, her eyes red-rimmed but determined. "And when would be the right time, Collins? When would it ever be easy to tell my daughter that the man she loves is the son of her father's murderer?"
The word hung in the air like a death sentence. Murderer. Collins flinched as if he'd been struck. He'd spent months trying
