Victoria was staring at the pink stationery, recognizing her mother’s handwriting, realizing that the story she had built her entire identity upon—the golden daughter of a high-society banker—was a complete fabrication.
“And me?” Elizabeth said, looking down at her father. “You treated me like a servant. You let Mom die thinking she was a failure. You let me sleep by the laundry room because looking at me reminded you that I was the only child in this house who actually carried your blood—and your shame.”
To see Elizabeth’s final exit and new beginning, continue reading below for the final part.
