“In this house,” she said softly, “no one carries everything alone.”
The mansion was vast—marble floors, chandeliers, portraits lining the walls. Daniel did not stare in awe. He walked through it like someone entering a place he already knew through stories.
“My mom described that staircase,” he murmured. “She said she carried laundry up and down, trying not to be noticed.”
Charles imagined Elena moving quietly through rooms he barely remembered.
Margaret brought Daniel to the living room. “Are you hungry?”
Daniel tried to smile. “I ate yesterday.”
She hurried to the kitchen.
Charles sat across from him. “Did your mother really say… I might be your father?”
“She said there was a strong chance,” Daniel replied evenly. “And that you deserved to know.”
His voice did not shake with anger—only truth.
“She told me you were a rich man who didn’t want responsibility. That she was fired when she got pregnant.”
Charles clenched his jaw. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
“She was threatened,” Daniel said quietly. “They told her if she spoke, they’d ruin her. She had no one. Just me.”
Margaret returned with food. Daniel ate politely despite trembling hands. Then he pulled a yellowed envelope from his bag.