Heathcliff and Lucas had many times encouraged, affirmed, and even stated frankly that his father was a bastard. And Ramsey agreed that his father was one of the cruelest men, but certainly some of that leaked into him. He was, after all, his father’s son. So as such, Ramsey had seen himself with the truth that not only did his father’s cruelty lurk deep within him, but he carried what his father never seemed to touch—shame.
In turn that only equaled one thing: utter and complete failure.
But Mrs. White’s words were like a balm to the gaping wound of his soul. Because sheknew.She had lived in the manor, seen the fits of rage that would send crystal to shattering, walls to shaking, and often, Ramsey to his room with welts, bleeding and bruised. And for her to say it wasn’t deserved. For her to tell him that he wasn’t his father . . . well, if anyone knew it, it would be she.
And the weight of three decades of self-recrimination fell off his shoulders like unloading a heavily laden cart. He breathed deeply, this new freedom from within, and gave his head a slightly astounded shake.
All this time, he thought the demons he needed to face bore his father’s name.
But in truth, the demons were far closer. They were within his own heart, believing the lies his father spoke, owning those lies, living them out.
No more.
He glanced to the window and then strode over to it, for the first time appreciating the view.
Because he was no longer that prisoner; he was set free.
And freedom was a beautiful thing, indeed.
