No.
Not this.
Anything but this.
Sienna stepped closer, her voice breaking now.
“He called his mother. She said they could spin it. She said if the board thinks you’re emotionally compromised, maybe they can delay your control. I don’t know what that means. But he was happy. God, he was happy, Lexi.”
For years, I had survived Ronald’s indifference.
His affairs.
His mother’s cruelty.
His quiet little punishments.
But this was different.
This was not about money.
This was not about pride.
This was about the only secret I had kept not out of strategy, but out of grief.
Victor’s voice softened.
“Lexi, what medical file?”
I closed my eyes.
Behind them, I saw a hospital room.
Tiny fingers.
A pink blanket.
A doctor unable to meet my gaze.
I heard myself answer from somewhere far away.
“My daughter.”
Sienna covered her mouth.
Victor went still.
I forced myself to breathe.
“She was born before I met Ronald. Her name was Emilia.”
Was.
The word still cut.
“She was born with a congenital heart defect. My grandfather paid for every specialist, every transfer, every impossible hope money could buy.”
My voice cracked.
“She lived thirty-seven days.”
