Page 63 of Fierce Secrets

Had he paid him a visit in the hospital and yanked it off? Or had the bastard removed it once I'd left him on the sidewalk?

I knew he was busy and a response wouldn't happen immediately, especially after I'd told him I needed space, so I dropped it back in the box and moved on.

I gathered some essentials, trying not to think about how my brother had packed up my life while I was falling apart. I needed to be grateful for the care he'd taken though. From a quick look, he'd grabbed everything important, all my documents and work related stuff, photos, sentimental things like the hoodie from college that I still wore to bed.

I was ready to head back out with the duffel bag I'd filled, but as I passed the office, something caught my eye. A box marked 'Records' sat open, what looked like medical files visible on thedesk. Curiosity drew me in, even as something in my gut warned me away.

Whose were they?

I set my bag down as I saw the first file.

Meredith Perla Cassaro.

My hands trembled as I pulled out the first file, the paper feeling too thin, too fragile to hold such heavy memories. Memorial Hospital, dated when I was eleven. The list of injuries made my stomach turn: three cracked ribs, severe bruising, sprained wrist. The memory surfaced as I read – Dad's face twisted with rage over a broken crystal glass, his hands shoving me, the sickening feeling of falling down the stairs. The sound of my own screams echoing in my ears.

I'd accidentally knocked over his glass when trying to show him my report card I was excited about. I'd done so well, a straight A student, and I was positive he'd be proud. Instead, I'd wound up in the hospital with a supposed bicycle injury.

Another file. Age fifteen: concussion, broken finger, internal bruising. That time he'd caught me trying to call Gray while he was on a camping trip with friends. I'd just wanted to hear my brother's voice, to feel less alone as my dad drank. Dad had made sure I couldn't dial a phone for weeks after that.

The files dated back to when my mother passed, almost one every year.

File after file, each one triggered another memory like dominoes falling in my mind. Hospital visits Gray never knew about, injuries explained away with carefully crafted lies. 'She fell.' 'Sports accident.' 'Clumsy teenager.' The same doctor's name appeared on many files – had he known? Had he suspected but stayed silent? Had my father paid him off?

Gray clearly knew it all now. He'd gotten my records, seen the truth. I'd not even recalled these fully until now, not in this depth, but these records didn't lie.

My father's violence was documented in sterile medical terminology, each page another piece of my fractured childhood coming back to haunt me. Words like 'contusion' and 'fracture' couldn't capture the terror of those moments, the way he'd smile at the hospital staff while squeezing my arm in warning to stay quiet.

Tears slid down my cheeks as the memories overwhelmed me. All those years of pain, of hiding, of protecting a monster who'd never loved me. And in the end, Leo and Gray had done what I never could – they'd stopped him.

Forever.

I sobbed as I stuffed the files back into the box, hating the cruel father I'd had. Why had he been like that? Why had he broken me down?

And my brain had chosen to block it all out after he'd died, only recalling the lesser moments, the more normalized episodes. Although even then, my therapist had said he'd been extremely abusive. If only she'd known the full depth of it.

But he was a dead man. There was no more punishment for him, no authorities that could be called on him.

He'd paid the ultimate price, hand delivered by the two men who cared deeply for me.

By one who called me his.

Had Leo known all of this then? Had he learned it after? Did he even know the full extent?

No, he definitely would know with his connections, especially with his possessiveness of me. He knew everything about me.

"Fuck," I choked out as I wiped at my tears.

I wasn't crying for the sick bastard who'd done this. No, he didn't deserve this. I was crying for the little girl who'd so badly wanted a father. Who'd suffered so much, endured so much, and shielded him despite it all.

Karma had a way of working around our attempts to protect bad people though. And justice had found him in a way he'd least expected.

I cried for some time, over my lost childhood, over knowing what Leo and Gray had done was right. And over the fact that I truly believed that, despite my morals. I'd never have wished death upon anyone…

But what they'd done, it was a necessary evil. They'd eradicated a monster. One who probably would've put me in the grave if they hadn't. I knew what I'd been like, I would've still tried to do right by him until he'd killed me. The loyalty of a child knew no bounds sometimes. At least the love and protectiveness of a brother outdid it.

Gray had saved me with Leo. He'd done a painful thing, something that I'd struggled with. But how had it affected him? Knowing he'd murdered his own flesh and blood to save another? He was living with blood on his hands, and I knew him. I knew he'd still feel guilt at times.

Maybe, when I was ready and truly came to terms with it, I'd thank him. Maybe it would help ease his conscience. But for now, I needed to sort through all of this.

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