"Did you ever love my father?" I repeated, my voice rising despite my effort to stay calm. The silence stretched between us, making the room feel smaller, more suffocating.
Mother's eyes, usually so calculating and composed, flickered with something that might have been regret—or merely annoyance at being questioned so persistently.
"I've already told you, Clara. I appreciated what he gave me—security, position, you." She reached for my hand again, and this time I let her take it, feeling oddly disconnected from my own body. "Why are you fixated on love? Love doesn't feed you or clothe you or protect you when the world is determined to grind you into dust."
I pulled my hand away. "Because I need to know if anything in my life was real. Was I just... a means to an end for you? A way to secure your position as Baroness?"
Mother's face hardened. "Don't twist my words. I wanted you. When I discovered I was carrying you, everything changed. My plans, my priorities—everything."
