“It’s been twenty-eight years.”
Lottie Grant looked at the complete pendant, a complex light flashing in her eyes. “It’s finally whole.”
“Why?” Grace stared at Lottie. “If you’re my sister, if you were alive, why did Mom never say anything? Since you were alive, why did you never look for me? Why… was I left alone in that hell?”
Her voice was losing control.
She was demanding answers.
Questioning fate, and questioning this glamorous sister before her.
Why?
Why did one of them, with the exact same face, have to struggle for survival in the mud—drained of blood, abused, and humiliated—while the other got to paint in the sun, living so freely and stylishly?
Lottie fell silent.
“Grace.”
Lottie reached out, wanting to take her hand, but Grace instinctively pulled away.
Lottie’s hand froze in mid-air. She withdrew it with a bitter smile.
“I was taken to Valeria right after I was born.”
Lottie began to speak slowly, her voice sounding distant. “When Mom gave birth to us, it was at a private clinic. She already knew what kind of man Alistair Hart was, and she knew that a viper’s nest like the Hart family would devour people.”
“When she was four months pregnant, she found out she was having twins through an ultrasound.”
Grace’s fingers tightened around her coffee cup, her knuckles turning white.
“Mom was afraid the Hart family wouldn’t tolerate two daughters, and she was even more afraid that… both children would be destroyed by them.”
Lottie took a deep breath. “So, she made a decision.”
“She contacted her best friend in Valeria, who became my adoptive mother, Claire Grant.”
“On the day of the delivery, she bribed the doctor and only let Alistair Hart see you. I, on the other hand, was taken away that very night by Mrs. Grant, who forged a birth certificate and made me a child of the Grant family.”
Grace’s breathing grew ragged.
“Why me?”
Her eyes were red as she spoke, her voice trembling. “Why was I the one left behind? Why wasn't I the one sent away?”
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