My Mother's Cruel, Blind Heart

ears of my life for

hrough me. She embraced my estranged stepfat

servant's quarters and left to eat from the g

with my mother. She watched for a momen

ttered. I was nothing to he

black car screeched to a halt. My grandfather stumb

with shock, l

a... you're my son's real

pte

Hender

inel to a mother who couldn't see me. Then she woke up, and

and the constant, dull ache of hope. My mother, Deborrah Rose, lay before me, a beautiful, fragile statue. Her car crash had taken everything – my childhoo

s, from turning her, bathing her, feeding the machines that kept her alive. My voice, once bright, was now a low murmur, the only sound she' d he

a quiet flutter of eyelids. Her eyes, the same shade of blue

se. Hope surged through me, a dizzying, terr

furniture, part of the sterile air. A deep, unf

borr

here. His face was strong, chiseled, framed by dark, silver-streaked hair

ng akin to it, crossed her face. Not for me, her devoted daughter,

he rasped, her voi

ed after my actual father died. The man she' d divorced before the accident, disappearing from our lives, taking his vast

ong strides. He knelt beside her bed, taking h

emotion. Tears welled in his eyes. Tears for her.

nized him. My mother, the woman I had sacrificed everything for, wa

Then she turned her head slightly, her gaze finally landing on

?" she asked, her v

it was shattering into a million icy fragments. Fi

o me, his eyes narrowing slightly. A flash of something

es, doctors, and what looked like a personal security detail flooded

breath. He shielded Deborrah with his b

oice suddenly sharp and commanding. The se

ard, caught sight of me. "And who' s this

assessing. A deep frown carved lines into his forehead. H

" he said, his voice flat, as if the word tasted sour in his mouth.

mbled, my mind reeling. Family? I was his daughter. H

oted caregiver. I was b

meras. Deborrah, now sitting upright in a wheelchair, was being whisked away by oth

ace gleamed under the harsh hospital lights. Christoph

soft lighting. It smelled of expensive cologne and old money. I sank into the

his arm immediately going around her shoulders. She leaned into him, a soft sigh es

mmered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The silence in the car was he

spital. I could hear whispers from the front sea

the assistant murmured,

lance. Make sure this vehicle is thoroughly detailed. Better yet,

The mess. I was the stain he wanted scrubbed

ed hard, trying to fight it down. I couldn' t throw up in his pr

much. My stomach rebelled. I leaned forward, a guttural sound

akes. "Hey!" he snapped, h

ser. His face, when he looked at me, was a mask

' s shoulder, her eyes closed. Not a word. Not a

finally pulled up to a massive, ornate iron gate, my eyes widened. This wasn' t just a hous

veway, a young girl, no older than fifteen, burst out of the imposin

hrieked, running

I hadn't seen in years. She practically launched herself

" Deborrah cried, hu

ild, a stranger, as if they had always been toge

Doria Winters. Christopher' s mother. My grandmother, though she would never claim me. Her

ded, her voice dripping with disdain. She

er, this is... Aisha. Deborrah' s daughter. Apparently." H

clinging to Kaylee. "Her daughter?" Her voice climbed an octave in disbelief.

rom her history. That' s wha

," she declared, her voice absolute. "Christopher, instruct the staff. Find her a place in the ser

l blows, each one echoing the