Love shaped by pain

Alexander’s POV

She staggers toward me like something in her just broke free—arms outstretched, eyes wide with desperation.

“No… no, that’s not true,” she gasps, as if saying it will make it real. “You’re my son—mine.”

The way she says it—so strained, so theatrical—makes me scoff hard.

She grabs my hands, gripping them tightly like holding on will somehow erase everything. “Who told you that you aren’t my son? How… how?” Her voice falters, the word how trembling out of her mouth like it’s choking her.

I can’t take it anymore. My hand jerks out of hers, flinging her back a step. Her eyes widen, stunned.

“You’re asking me how I knew?” My voice comes out like a slap. “You thought I wouldn’t find out, didn’t you? You tried so hard to keep it buried that you even gave up your freedom—went to prison—just so Cynthia wouldn’t say a word.”

Her eyes flash—panic, regret, everything.

“Yeah. I heard it all,” I spit. “The night I came back from the hospita