In that moment, I wanted to cry out, questioning whether the kindness he had shown me all those years was real or just a facade. But it all made sense now. He was simply used to cleaning up Leta's messes and I was just a convenient distraction he had unwittingly indulged. I had naively believed that his gestures were special, that they held some deeper meaning.
One day I stumbled upon Nial’s diary and read it. I’ll rise to the top and one day, Leta will have to look up at me, begging for mercy. I’ll make her love me completely, with no way out. I could feel his determination through the pages.
Then there were my biological parents. I had overheard my mother sobbing quietly in her bedroom, her voice laced with bitterness as she lamented, “Why isn’t Leta my real daughter?” She had always hated my dark skin, despised the way I kept my head down while eating and resented my timid nature that made me seem unworthy of being their child. My father would often sigh when he looked at me, muttering, “It’s just how things are. There's nothing we can do about it.”