Her back straightens. “You’re my son, Isaak. And I will always love you. But sometimes… you remind me so much of him.”
She spits out the last word, turning it into a blade. A killing blow.
Unfortunately for her, I’m well-versed in sparring. Both verbally and physically.
“Why do you sound so surprised?” I ask. “I am his son. I am what you allowed him to make me.”
She does a double take, her eyes flooding with hurt and guilt. The wording had been deliberate on my part, but now I regret it.
Not because it’s a lie, but because this is not a conversation I’m willing to have.
“I was powerless to stop him,” she whispers. Now, there’s an audible tremble in her voice. “I tried… It may have seemed like I had power on the outside. But whatever authority I had was only what he allowed me to have
