Page 202 of Fractured Devotion
“It’s done,” I tell her, my voice steady.
She lifts her brows slightly but doesn’t interrupt.
“Miramont is gone. Their files, their experiments, their influence. All of it dismantled.”
For a moment, she says nothing. Then a small, weary smile touches her lips. “You did it,” she says, almost in disbelief.
I nod once.
“And the ones who hurt you? The ones who started all of it?”
“They will be exposed in time,” I answer. My tone leaves no room for questions.
Irene lets out a long breath, her body easing back into the chair. “You always had your mother’s fire,” she says softly.
I smile faintly, letting her words hang in the air without reply.
Irene’s smile deepens, a rare softness flickering through her guarded features. “She would have been proud of you,” she says. “They both would, your parents.”
For the first time, it doesn’t sting to hear them mentioned.
“I wanted you to know,” I say, meeting her gaze fully. “Because you’re still my blood. And despite everything, I literally don’t have any family left.”
Her eyes glisten, but she doesn’t let the tears fall.
“You didn’t have to tell me,” she says, her voice soft.
“I know,” I reply. “But I wanted to.”
We sit in silence for a while, the years between us shrinking with every second that slips by.
“What happens now?” she finally asks.
“I have plans,” I say, my voice steady. “A new clinic that’s ethical and transparent. Something different from everything I’ve known.”
Her expression flickers with cautious hope. “You really think you can build something good out of all this darkness?”
“I have to try,” I answer.
Irene leans forward, her eyes sharp but warm. “You already did the impossible,” she says. “Maybe there’s more of your mother in you than you realize.”
“Maybe,” I admit.
She reaches out, her hand brushing mine gently. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice thick with something unspoken.
“For what?”
“For surviving. And for not hating me beyond repair,” she says softly.
I squeeze her hand lightly.
“We all did what we thought we had to,” I say.
The night deepens around us, but neither of us moves.
“You can visit,” I offer. “When the new place is ready. You should see what it looks like when truth isn’t hidden.”
She smiles, small and soft. “I’d like that,” she says.
