My heart pounded as I strained to hear their conversation, every muscle tense with anticipation. I pictured Victor’s confident smirk faltering, that veneer of control cracking under the weight of my father’s words. Douglas Morrison had built his empire on integrity and resilience, traits Victor had always dismissed as antiquated. But today, they were about to change everything.
I lay there, replaying Victor’s callous words in my mind. “If the baby doesn’t make it… it solves problems.” That statement had shifted something deep within me. I had made excuses for him for too long, believing I was strong enough to weather his storms. But now, with our daughter’s life at stake, I realized I had been complicit in my own undoing. It was time to reclaim my narrative.
Minutes felt like hours before my father returned. His eyes were steely, his resolve palpable. He placed a folder on my bedside table, the weight of it echoing the gravity of the situation.
