I frown. "I can't ask you to hide something from them. I wouldn't."
"You didn't. Is it something that would cause them harm?"
I shake my head. This truth won't hurt them. Not physically.
"Then you can tell me and you have my word I will not tell them."
She nods encouragingly.
"I don't know what you know," I mutter, sniffing as I pull back and sit heavily against the wall.
"I know they're trying to get something back which was stolen from them—from the man who hurt Elijah. I know you are helping them, as I am by being here."
I nod.
"That man," I start, the words scraping from my chest. "I found out that man…is my father."
Her lips part and she says nothing for a long, long moment. Then she places a hand on my knee.
"We do not have to carry the sins of our fathers, Aurora."
Then why is the weight of this so fucking heavy?
"Do you feel any sense of kinship with this man? Of loyalty? Would you choose him over Elijah, Atticus, and Seven?"
The suggestion is so laughable that I don't even feel the need to respond to it.
"Then it doesn't matter," she says when she reads the expression on my face. "It only matters ifyoumake it matter. Blood does not always equal family. Look at me. I would do anythingfor those boys.Anything.They aren't my sons, but for me at least, they're family."
A sad smile tugs at one corner of my mouth, and she gives my knee a squeeze. "And now, that extends to you."
She pulls some toilet paper from the roll and dabs the tears from my cheeks.
"I won't tell them," she assures me. "But you should. You may not think they'll accept it, but I know they will."
When she's finished, she hands me the slip of paper for me to blow my nose as her phone starts to ring again.
Atticus is probably losing his mind. I was supposed to reach out to them using the burner phone and silencer as soon as I got back.
"You can answer it," I tell Céline. "Tell him I'm fine and I'll call in a few minutes."
She nods and gets to her feet, extending a hand to help me up.
She holds it in hers for a moment longer once I'm standing. "I can only imagine what you must be feeling."
Céline knows a bit about my history. We talked for hours while she colored, cut, and styled my hair in Paris. So when she says it, I know she means it. What orphaned child wouldn'timagine one day finding out their parent never stopped trying to get back to them? It's a dream shared in some form or another by every other kid I met in the foster system.
"Yes?" Céline says as she picks up the phone. "Yes, she's here."
A pause.
"She's fine. No, Atticus, she's in the bathroom.No, I will not go get her. She said she'll call you in a few minutes."
Vaguely, I hear Atticus still trying to argue on the other end, and I almost cave and tell her to give me the phone, but she surprises me by hanging up mid-Atty-rant.
"That boy needs to learn some patience."
I let out a watery laugh. "He means well."
