Chapter 127 It's Killing Me “I don’t care!” I shouted over her. “Just stop it! Stop telling me who to be. I can’t breathe under your rules anymore. It's exhausting! It's killing me! I can’t—” My voice cracked completely. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the rhythmic beeping of the monitor, steady and loud. “Oh God.” She cried, her shoulders shaking. “What have I done?” Then I looked at her. Her frail body sunk into the hospital bed, her skin pale, her eyes rimmed red, her chest rising shallowly with every breath. She looked so small. So breakable. And guilt hit me like a wave. God, what was I doing? She was sick. She was fighting leukemia. And here I was, screaming, ripping open wounds that neither of us had the strength to close. I was practically killing her quicker. I pressed a shaky hand to my mouth, trying to steady myself. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice raw. “I shouldn't have done that.” She sniffled, fumbling for a handkerchief on the bedside table. “No,” she said softly, dabbing at her eyes. “You don’t need to apologize, sweetheart. I’m the one at fault. I shouldn’t have—” I cut her off gently. “Does he know?” Her eyes darted up, sniffling. “What?” “Does he know he’s my father?” She hesitated. Her gaze lingered on the blanket covering her legs, as though the answer were stitched into the fabric. Then, slowly, she met my eyes. “Yes.” The air seemed to leave my lungs. “Since when?” That question—those two words—seemed to undo her. She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as she tried to speak. Her fingers twisted in the sheets, searching for strength that wasn’t there. “Since the day I found out I was pregnant with you.” The words dropped between us like lead. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. I couldn't think. Couldn't even breathe. The silence stretched. I felt the world tilt on its axis—like everything I’d known had just been quietly rewritten behind my back.All this time. Every memory. Every conversation. Every family gathering, every story. All of it. A web of lies wrapped in good intentions. I sank back into the chair beside the bed, feeling suddenly weightless and heavy all at once. “You mean,” I whispered, “he knew? This entire time? Every time he looked at me, every time he said my name, every time he watched me cry—he knew?” She nodded weakly. “He didn’t want to hurt you. He thought it was better that way. He believed it would be safer.” “Safer,” I repeated, hollow. “Right. Because secrets are always safer.” Tears blurred my vision. I hated them. I hated the way my body betrayed me when I needed to feel strong. “You don’t get it,” I said, my voice trembling. “You kept me from the truth my entire life. You made me love the wrong people, trust the wrong people, obey the wrong people.” Her hands shook as she reached out again, pleading. “Please, Savannah. Try to understand—” “Understand what?” I snapped. “That you had an affair with your husband’s blood brother? That you hid me like some shameful disgusting mistake?”She flinched at the word. I saw it—the guilt, the regret—but it didn’t make me feel better. “Do you have any idea,” I said quietly, “what that did to me? What it still does to me?” Her chin quivered. “Every single day of my life.” The honesty in her voice hit something inside me I wasn’t ready for. I turned away, pressing my palms to my face, my tears soaking into the skin between my fingers. “I hate that I can’t even stay angry at you for long because you're sick.” She gave a small, broken laugh — one that sounded more like a sob. “You have your father’s heart and humor.” I let my hands fall to my lap. “Which one?” That shut her up. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence between us felt both unbearable and sacred—the kind that only exists between two people who have run out of ways to hurt each other. Which is exactly what we were. I leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “All this time I was trying to make sense of who I was. Why I never felt like I belonged in my own family. Why Julius looked at me like I was something he despised instead of someone he loved.” I turned to her, my voice trembling. “Now it makes sense.”She closed her eyes, whispering, “I’m so sorry.” I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to. But some words, once said, lose their power. I wiped my face and looked at her again. Her eyes were closing, exhaustion washing over her. I could see the guilt weighing down every breath she took. I reached out hesitantly, while brushing a stray strand of hair from my forehead. Her skin was warm—too warm. “Rest now, Mom,” I whispered. “We’ll… talk later.” She opened her eyes, glassy and unfocused, and managed a faint nod. “I love you, Sav.” It broke me. I swallowed hard. “I love you too.” The words felt true but false, like glass in my throat. I sat there long after she drifted to sleep, staring at her pale hand resting on the blanket, at the IV line, at the quiet hum of the monitor. My chest ached. Because no matter how much I wanted to hate her, a part of me still loved her. The same part that once clung to her hand as a child and believed that all mothers loved all their children equally. I leaned back in the bed, my mind replaying her last words on a cruel loop. “Since the day I found out I was pregnant with you.” The sentence echoed in my skull until it stopped sounding like a confession and started sounding like an actual curse. I didn’t even realize I was crying again until a tear slid down my neck. And for the first time in years, I didn’t wipe it away.