Emma stared at the letter from Michael Morgan until her vision blurred.
Even after reading it twice—no, three times—it still felt unreal.
Two fathers.
Two names.
Two lives.
And now—one truth she couldn't avoid anymore.
James Miller had dropped a bomb into her world and walked away without forcing her to believe him. That was the most unsettling part. He didn't push. He didn't explain too much. He simply handed her the letter and left her with the damage.
She folded the page carefully and placed it in her bag, heart hammering. Her instincts told her she couldn't go to her mother again—not yet. Grace's walls were too high.
But there was someone else.
Olivia.
Her best friend. Her confidant. The person who had stood beside her through every grief, every disappointment.
If there was anyone left she could trust, it had to be her.
⸻
Emma arrived at Olivia Bennett's house just after 6:00 p.m. The sky was already bruising purple. The porch light was on, warm and familiar, and through the window, she could see the flicker of a candle burning on the kitchen island.
Olivia answered the door with her usual effortless poise—dark hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, soft sweater sleeves pushed to the elbow, a wine glass in hand.
"Emma!" Her face lit up. "You look awful."
Emma almost laughed.
"Thanks."
Olivia stepped aside, waving her in. "What's going on? You didn't answer my texts yesterday."
Emma walked in slowly. The house smelled like vanilla and lemon. Too calm for what was building inside her.
"I need to ask you something," Emma said. "And I need you to be honest."
Olivia's smile faltered, but she nodded. "Of course."
They moved to the living room. Emma sat stiffly on the edge of the sofa, hands clasped in her lap.
"I found a letter," Emma began. "From my father. Not Richard. My biological father."
She watched Olivia closely.
There was the faintest flicker—an eye twitch, a shift in posture.
"I didn't know you were looking for him," Olivia said slowly.
"I wasn't. But someone found me."
She paused.
"His nephew. James Miller."
Olivia blinked. "That name sounds familiar."
Emma studied her. "Does it?"
Olivia took a sip of wine, carefully. "Maybe from uni? Remind me."
"He gave me a photo of my father. And a letter. Michael Morgan—do you remember the name?"
Olivia hesitated.
It was all Emma needed to see.
"You knew," she whispered.
Olivia looked down.
"Olivia." Emma's voice shook. "How long have you known?"
"I didn't want to get involved," she said quietly. "I thought it was better—"
"Better for who?" Emma snapped. "Because it sure as hell wasn't better for me."
"I was trying to protect you," Olivia said quickly. "Grace told me you weren't supposed to know. That your biological father was unstable. Dangerous."
Emma stood. "He wasn't. He was just gone."
"She said he abandoned you. That Richard stepped in, gave you a real life."
Emma's voice was flat. "So that justified lying to me? For twenty-five years?"
Olivia stood too, her voice rising. "I didn't lie to you, Emma. I kept a secret I was asked to keep. That's different."
"No. It's not. Not when you watched me spiral every time I felt like I didn't belong. Not when you heard me ask, again and again, why everything felt off."
"I didn't know what to do!"
"You could've told me the truth," Emma said coldly. "You chose not to."
The wine glass in Olivia's hand trembled slightly.
Emma stepped closer. "Why? Why were you so willing to protect her?"
"She's your mother," Olivia said, her voice sharp. "And she begged me. She said the truth would destroy you."
"She was wrong."
"No," Olivia whispered. "She wasn't."
Emma's breath caught.
"What do you mean?"
Olivia bit her lip, hesitated.
Then: "There's more to this than you think, Em. Things your mother never told you. Things even I don't fully understand. But I know this—if you keep digging, you're going to find something you can't come back from."
Emma stared at her.
"And you knew that," she said softly. "And you still chose silence."
"I chose love," Olivia snapped. "You think I did this to hurt you? You think I wanted to lie? I was trying to help."
Emma picked up her coat slowly.
"No," she said. "You were trying to stay comfortable."
She headed for the door.
Olivia didn't stop her.
But just before Emma stepped outside, Olivia called after her, voice trembling.
"Be careful, Emma. There are things in your past that don't belong to you alone. If you keep opening doors, you're going to bring ghosts back."
Emma turned to her, eyes burning.
"They were never gone."
⸻
Outside, the wind whipped her hair across her face. She barely noticed. The night smelled like rain.
Everything was unraveling.
And now, for the first time in her life, Emma knew the worst wasn't behind her.
It was just starting to surface.