The apartment feels too small. Too suffocating. The weight of the envelope in my lap presses down on me like a lead brick. The pages inside—proof of corruption, betrayal, and a history I never knew existed—stare back at me, taunting me.
I swallow hard, my hands trembling as I glance at my mother. Evelyn sits across from me, her posture stiff, her fingers gripping the hem of her cardigan like it's the only thing holding her together. Her face is pale, her eyes hollow, as if the weight of whatever she's about to say has drained the life from her.
"Mom," my voice is barely above a whisper. "Are you ready for this? Now?"
She nods, staring at me, and I move closer to her, holding her hands gently. I search her face, desperate for answers, for a truth I'm not sure I want to hear.
"Please," I beg. "Tell me the truth."