Dorian:Where are you? What's wrong?
Dorian:Vespera please answer me
Dorian:I'm coming to find you
I texted back with tear-blurred vision:I'm fine. Give me an hour. Please.
Three dots. Forever. Then:
Dorian:One hour. Then I'm coming whether you want me to or not.
Fair.
I read the letter one more time. Let it hurt. Let it clarify. Let it teach me what I already knew but needed to hear from someone who'd lived it:
The bond wasn't absolute. My mother had broken it. Which meant every day I stayed was my choice.
Not biology forcing me.
Not the bond controlling me.
Choice.
And I was choosing to stay.
Dadwaswaitinginhis car in the visitor lot, exactly where he said he'd be. I yanked open the passenger door and threw myself into the seat, letter crumpled in my fist.
"Nine years," I said. No preamble. Pure fury. "You had this for nine fucking years."
He didn't flinch. "Yes."
"I presented at fourteen. I've been an Omega for five years and you never thought 'hey, maybe my daughter deserves to know why her mother abandoned her'?"
"Vespera—"
"No." My voice cracked. "You let me think—god, I made up so many stories. That she died. That she was forced to leave. That maybe she loved us but had no choice. And the whole time you had this letter telling me the truth. That she left because she was too weak to stay."
"She asked me to wait—"
"She's a coward who doesn't get to make that call!" I was shouting now, letter shaking in my grip. "You're my father. You should have told me. Years ago. Before I presented. Before I bonded. Before I—" I choked on the words. Before I started disappearing the same way she did.
The silence in the car was suffocating.
"You're right," Dad said finally. His voice was quiet. Defeated. "I should have told you sooner. I was trying to protect you one more time, and I ended up hurting you instead. I'm sorry."
The apology punctured my anger. Left me hollow and exhausted.
"She was honest, at least," I said, slumping back in the seat. "Brutally fucking honest."
"She was a coward," he said, and there was old pain in his voice. Old anger. "She ran instead of fighting."
"She was both."
He looked at me then, really looked. "Are you okay?"
"No." Honest answer. Might as well keep the trend going. "She's right about some things. The bond is suffocating if you let it be. The world does try to make you smaller. I've felt all of it."
"But you're still here."
