“That’s not possible.”
“It is,” Victoria said, nudging the envelope closer.
“Because that number… isn’t public. It’s a private line. Very few people have it.”
Emily slowly opened the envelope.
Printed messages.
Dates.
Conversations.
Words that looked… painfully familiar.
But they weren’t written by her.
The air felt heavier.
“Who did this?” she whispered.
Victoria didn’t hesitate.
“Your mother.”
The impact wasn’t physical.
But it hurt more.
“No.”
“She knew exactly who she was contacting. She knew who my father was. His history. His guilt.”
Emily shook her head.
“You don’t understand anything—”
“No,” Victoria cut in sharply.
“You don’t.”
She leaned forward.
“My father isn’t a hero.”
Silence.
“He’s a man driven by guilt.”
“A man who lost his wife… and a daughter… years ago.”
Emily froze.
“What?”
“A girl your age,” Victoria said quietly.
“She died because she didn’t get medical care in time.”
A long, suffocating silence followed.
“Because at that moment… my father was too busy working.”
Emily couldn’t move.
“Since then,” Victoria continued,
“he’s been trying to make up for it.”
“Trying to save someone… as if it could erase what happened.”
Emily’s thoughts spiraled.
“You’re saying… all of this was planned?”
Victoria didn’t soften.
“I’m saying your story… was the perfect opportunity.”
Emily’s hands trembled as she held the papers.
“That doesn’t change what he did…”
“Are you sure?” Victoria shot back.
“Or does it… because now it doesn’t feel so ‘special’ anymore?”
The question was cruel.
Precise.
Emily said nothing.
For the first time…
she didn’t know what to say.
Victoria stood.
“I came so you’d know the truth.”
She walked to the door.
Then paused.
“And to ask you something.”
Emily looked up.
“Stay away from him.”
Silence.
“My father has already lost too much.”
“He doesn’t need to get attached to someone who reminds him of what he couldn’t save.”
And with that…
she left.
Without looking back.
That night…
Emily couldn’t sleep.
She stared at the ceiling.
Listened to Noah breathing in the next room.
And thought.
About her mother.
About Daniel.
Every moment.
Every word.
Was it all real?
Or… built?
The next morning…
she didn’t go to the hospital.
She went home.
That same old house…
no longer where she lived,
but still where she came from.
Her mother was there.
As always.
Busy hands.
Tired eyes.
“Emily? What are you doing here so early?”
Emily placed the envelope on the table.
“What is this?”
Her mother looked at it.
And in that moment…
everything was clear.
She didn’t ask.
Didn’t deny.
She just stayed silent.
“Tell me,” Emily said, her voice shaking.
“Is it true?”
Seconds passed.
Heavy ones.
“Yes.”
One word.
And everything changed.
“Why?”
Her mother looked up.
And for the first time…
she didn’t try to look strong.
“Because I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“That you would end up like me.”
Tears fell.
“I had no options, Emily… no one to ask for help…”
“Until I learned about him.”
“And you decided to use me?”
“No!” her mother cried.
“I decided to save you.”
Silence.
“I knew that if he saw your situation… he wouldn’t ignore it.”
Emily stepped back.
“And if it didn’t work?”
“Then at least I would have tried.”
Honest.
Painful.
“You lied to me my whole life…”
“I gave you a life,” her mother replied.
That sentence…
didn’t justify everything.
But it wasn’t entirely false.
Emily closed her eyes.
Took a deep breath.
And understood something difficult:
not everything that hurts…
is completely wrong.
But it never stops hurting either.
That afternoon…
she went to see Daniel.
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