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Grace, a long time ago, my father had an affair with your mother and you and your sister were born as a result.

Remember the story I told you at dinner about that one stormy night when I saw my father’s other family, when he gave them all his hugs and kisses?

That night, I remembered seeing a little girl clinging to her mother in the pouring rain as they sobbed together.

My father was crying along with the storm.

My memory had holes in it, and I didn’t realize until now, until my mother told me…

That little girl is you .

I gasp, my heart bolting to my throat, choking me, and a sudden wave of dizziness hits me. Quickly grasping the bed frame, I steady myself as old memories flood into my mind.

I had only been on a plane two times in my life.

One time was the beautiful trip to Hawaii with Uncle Bobby, the only time I got a taste of what a family vacation would feel like.

The other time also revolved around him.

Taylor was at a weekend sleepover and Mom rushed me to the airport and we flew across the country.

I remembered the storm, the rain, the loud thunder, which terrified me every time it rumbled after the lightning flashed around us. I remembered Uncle Bobby kneeling in front of me, his eyes wet with tears, blending with the rain as he held out his arms.

I remembered hugging him and him hugging me back and kissing my hair. I remembered how, on the way back to the airport, Mom told me we wouldn’t see Uncle Bobby again.

And now…I suddenly remember the shadow of a boy older than me, hiding behind the windows, who looked so heartbroken and sad.

But he disappeared after Uncle Bobby gave me the last hug.

I always thought it was a child’s imagination, my psyche inventing a companion during one of the most heartbreaking nights of my life.

Someone to share my burden and pain with.

My lungs heave in pants of air as I quickly read the rest of the letter.

I’m your half-brother, Grace. I learned the truth after I went home to tell my parents about our triumph over Voss.

Mother is devastated in a way I’ve never seen her behave before.

Father fainted from the shock when I confronted him.

It turns out the reason Mother was so against us wasn’t because of your background. It’s because you’re my sister.

We can never be together. It’s immoral. It’s a disease.

Please forgive me for last night, for not telling you the moment I found out.

I desperately wanted one last memory with you.

Please forgive me for my behavior. Instead of dealing with the situation like a man, I chose to be a coward, to drink myself into hopes I’d never awaken and I can keep you with me always.

But all dreams have to end. Not all wishes come true, even the wishes made upon a wishing star.

My only regret is hurting you because I know you’ll be crushed by this news, just like I was when I found out. But selfishly, I could never regret you.

I’m thankful you exist.

I’m thankful you got his hug and love when I got everything else from him.

I’m thankful you walked into the halls of Pietra and into my life.

I’m thankful I got to be the one to love you, to receive your love, even if it’s only for a short while.

I’m thankful you’ve resurrected my heart, even though I’m dying of pain, but at least I have the memories of our time together with me always. At least I’ve loved and truly lived before.

I love you forever and always, even though we can never be together.

“You’re the stars in my skies, the reason I breathe at night, how will I live now that you’re not by my side?”

I understand these lyrics now, and I thank you for teaching me the power of love.

Forever yours,

Steven

P.S. Once you’ve had time to process this, if you want to find me, I’ll be at my suite at The Orchid. I won’t run away this time.

The letter falls from my hands onto the blankets, and I look at the photo on the bed.

It’s a faded one, but I recognize a slightly younger Steven, his mother, two women I presume are his sisters, and a man I haven’t laid eyes in over fifteen years—Uncle Bobby, known to the world as the reclusive Robert Kingsley.

He’s thinner, his hair graying, but those kind eyes and regal bearing are very much him.

I let out a shuddering sob as tears stream down my face.

Clutching Steven’s pillow, still heavy with his scent to my chest, I cry as the reality of the situation finally catches up to me.

That’s why he pulled away last night when I kissed him.

That’s why he looked so broken, so haunted.

That’s why I was mourning a loss I couldn’t identify until now. That’s why he told me not to hate him.

I want to be angry; I want to feel disgusted and perhaps a part of me does, with the nausea joining in or the pounding pain in my chest, but at the end of the day, I could never bring myself to hate him.

How could I? He’s very much a victim of the same circumstances as I am. Two broken people who, despite all odds, fell in love when they shouldn’t have, because of the sins of our parents.

One doesn’t fall out of love because something as inconvenient as the truth enters the picture. The heart doesn’t care about common sense, rational thought, what’s right or wrong.

They say the heart wants what it wants.

I always thought that was foolish, but now I realize I’m the fool, a fool still madly, desperately in love with a man she has no future with. With someone she isn’t allowed to love romantically.

My heart splits apart into broken slivers, joining his tattered pieces as the vultures of reality feast on the scraps.

An unbearable pain scythes through my insides, cleaving me in half as my tears wet the pillow and guttural cries tear from my throat.

It can’t be.

The denial is a constant chant, echoing in my mind. I shake my head. I refuse to believe it.

Taylor and I asked Mom if Uncle Bobby was our father and she always said no. She was vehement about it, and I never sensed deceit from her.

I fist the blankets as I rake in desperate gulps of air, my mind trying to hang on to the last vestiges of rational thought, of logic .

It can’t be. There has to be a mistake. Mom would’ve told us. I’m sure of it. My father is someone else. He can’t be Uncle Bobby.

The irony doesn’t escape me—the person I longed to be my father when I was a kid is the one person I desperately hope isn’t my father now.

The flames in my heart refuse to dim, my soul denying this twisted fate as the end.

An icy resolve fills my veins and I breathe in calming breaths of air and brush away the tears from my cheeks.

I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I’ll find the truth, the answers, and until I see the DNA results in front of my eyes, I refuse to accept this is the end for us.