The drive was silent except for the hum of tires on icy roads. Finally, David spoke. “She’s been sick for months. Terminal. She didn’t want anyone to know.”
“She never wanted me to know anything,” I replied flatly.
“She kept everything you ever made,” he said gently. “Drawings. Report cards. Letters you never sent.”
That detail stayed with me.
At the hospital, David stopped outside her room. “I’ll wait here. She’s very weak.”
Inside, the woman in the bed barely resembled the mother I remembered. Tubes, wires, fragile breathing. When she opened her eyes, they filled with tears.
“Eleanor,” she whispered. “You came.”
I sat down, arms crossed. “You asked for me. Why?”
Her voice trembled. “Because I lied to you. Because I was afraid of you. You were just like your father.”
The name hit like a blow.
“He was talented,” she continued. “Driven. And he left us. I was terrified you would do the same. So I trapped you. I made you stay. I made you take care of James so you wouldn’t leave.”
I stared, stunned.
“And James?” I asked quietly.
Her breath hitched. “James isn’t your brother.”
My heart dropped.
“He’s your half-brother. Your father came back briefly when you were thirteen. His wife died giving birth. He asked me to take the baby. I agreed—but only if he supported us financially. I told everyone James was mine. And I let you raise him.”
Rage, grief, disbelief tangled in my chest.
“There’s more,” she whispered. “Your father created a trust. For you. He never stopped regretting leaving. David managed it.”
I walked out of the room without another word.
