Inside, the mansion gleamed — marble floors, towering windows, art worth more than Emily could imagine. But she didn’t stare.
She wasn’t here to be impressed.
She was here to survive.
“My mom described this staircase,” she murmured, looking at the sweeping curve upward. “She said she used to carry laundry up and down, trying not to make noise.”
Daniel stood very still.
Margaret led Emily to the living room.
“Are you hungry?” she asked gently.
Emily hesitated.
“I ate yesterday morning.”
Margaret disappeared toward the kitchen, furious at a world that let children arrive hungry.
When they were alone, Daniel sat across from her.
“Did your mother tell you… that I might be your father?”
Emily didn’t look away.
“She said there was a strong possibility. And that you deserved to know — even if it was too late for her.”
Her voice didn’t break.
“She believed you knew she was pregnant. She was told you didn’t want a scandal. That she was fired because of it.”
Daniel’s hands tightened.
“I never knew,” he said hoarsely. “They told me she quit for a better job.”
Emily slowly opened one backpack and pulled out a worn envelope.