Forgive me.
Your father, Walter.
The man I had mourned as my husband had knowingly concealed that he was my father. Our companionship had been real to me, but he had denied me the truth I needed to choose it.
“He knew the entire time?”
Mr. Grant nodded. Private investigators had spent six months confirming my identity. Walter had watched from a balcony before finding the courage to approach me.
I felt grief and anger together. He had wanted forgiveness, but he had arranged everything so I could not confront him while he was alive.
Part 3: The People Who Came to Evict Me
The suite doors burst open before I could answer. Adrian, Walter’s fifty-year-old eldest son, entered with Celia and two attorneys.
Celia glanced around with disgust. “Still enjoying the penthouse? You haven’t wasted any time.”
Adrian stopped in front of me. “We’ve filed an emergency motion with Judge Kessler. We’re challenging the marriage and demanding a psychiatric review. You have thirty minutes to leave. Anything our father bought stays here.”
