“You never knew,” she said bitterly. “Your parents pushed me away. They never accepted me—forced me out. I had to hide my pregnancy or they would’ve destroyed me. Destroyed our baby.”
No. That wasn’t true. My father would never—he wasn't a murderer.
I tried to speak, to break through the storm unraveling on the other end of the line. “Ronan—please—” But I never finished.
His voice returned. Cold. Unrecognizable.
“I’ll send someone to help.”
The line went dead.
The phone slipped from my grasp, hitting the cave floor with a soft thud. I stared at it in disbelief. No. That couldn’t be it. He wouldn’t leave us. He wouldn’t trade his own son for a past he once let go of.
But he had.
The sound of Elior’s breathing pulled me back, ragged and thin.
“Mama… is he coming?” he asked, voice a bare whisper.
I tried to summon strength, tried to smile, but my lips trembled too much to form it.
“He’s just… delayed, sweetheart,” I whispered. A lie. One I clung to because I didn’t know how to give him the truth.
Elior blinked slowly, offering a small nod. “Don’t cry, Mommy…”