“He doesn’t know who Nina is. He doesn’t know who I am. He doesn’t even know you!”
The accusations come out shouted, flecked with spit.
“And what did you expect?” Lysandra has the audacity to challenge me, reclaiming the space she’d retreated from. She stands, trying to match my height, staring at me in disbelief. “That he’d greet you like his best friend just because you both shared a pair of legs? Nero, get a grip.”
“What did you do?”
I’m not buying her pathetic deflection. My hands curl into fists as I step back, then pace in short, tight steps. I turn on her again. “What did you do?”
This time it’s a thunderous shout—not just rage pumping through my veins where blood should be, but the agony of a truth finally tearing its way out.
Lysandra looks at me as if she can’t believe my nerve. Her nostrils flare as she tries—and fails—to rein in her temper, nails digging into her palms.
“I protected you,” she snaps, done pretending. “I saved you from a problem. I did my job as a mother!”
“Your job as a mother?” My voice comes out hollow, desperate—because she didn’t deny it. She didn’t deny it. “If I find the other man you dragged into this—or his parents—they won’t know who I am either, will they? Because it was all staged!”
The last word explodes out of me. I back away, unable to stand her proximity anymore.
I turn my back, pressing my fist to my mouth and biting down hard, desperate for a different pain—anything but the one detonating in my chest.
“She was nothing!”
“She was everything to me!”
I admit it out loud for the first time in years, turning back to Lysandra. Self-loathing floods every pore, matching the fury I feel toward her in size and intensity.
“You’re insane, Nero. Completely insane!”
“Where is she?” I ask, stepping toward her again, hands opening and closing on reflex.
“I don’t know.”
“Where is she, Lysandra?” I shout again, making it clear I’m not going anywhere without the answer I need.
“I don’t know, damn it! I don’t know! If I did, don’t you think I’d have already brought your child home?”
She yells back—and what little was left of me is finally torn away.
Your child, she said.
While I spent all this time rotting with doubt, for Lysandra it was never a question whether the child Nina was carrying was mine. She knew. She always knew—and she destroyed my life on a whim.
The pain is physical, crushing my heart until it feels ready to burst and end my misery—and I wait. I wait and wait. Minutes pass, and I’m still here. Still breathing. More shattered with every second.
“All these years…” I whisper, turning my face away so I don’t do something unforgivable. “All this time…”
It’s unthinkable. Unnameable. Endless—the agony forcing its way up my throat and filling every inch of me. “I can’t believe all these years…” I repeat, barely audible. “How can you hatesomeone that much? For nothing. Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? Nina never did anything to you…”
My voice rises, indignation and rage pushing me beyond restraint. “And me? What did I do to deserve being sentenced to this miserable life?”
“Miserable?” Lysandra scoffs. “I took you into this house!” she snaps, and the days I once felt grateful for that seem to belong to another life. “I took you in when you were nothing! I didn’t have to! But I did—because I couldn’t have children. Still, I should’ve known the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
The comment doesn’t make sense. I don’t know whether rage is clouding my comprehension or if there’s a meaning I can’t yet see.
“Do you understand you didn’t just destroy my family? You destroyedours? What you so generously reminded me of doing for me—it’s worth nothing now, Lysandra. Nothing.”
I could spit on the floor.
