Memories surged. I was a child again, perched near the staircase, watching him leave our house in the dead of night. Back then, I didn’t understand the woman he visited was Seraphine’s mother. I didn’t grasp why my mother remained silent, her pain hidden behind forced smiles and endless work papers.
Years later, when Seraphine came into our lives, presented as my “stepsister,” I had thought I was gaining family. She had been sweet then—laughing, calling me “sister,” helping me choose outfits, sharing secrets, braiding my hair for school. Everyone adored her, and I did too. I never realized that behind her warmth, she had been quietly learning how to take everything that belonged to me.
She was a mirror of my father’s betrayal.
“Dad,” I said, voice cracking, “do you even hear yourself? You did this to Mom. You left her for your mistress, and now you’re defending Adrian and Seraphine as if it’s normal—”
His hand slammed down on my desk with a force that made me flinch.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he spat. “Didn’t I give you Adrian because you wanted him? You begged me to approve that marriage! And now this nonsense?”
Tears pricked my eyes. “Because I was a fool!”