Selina stepped between me and the door when I tried to take Phedra inside.
“You don’t get to disappear for four years and come home judging everyone.”
I rolled up my sleeve. Burns and old cuts ran from my wrist toward my elbow.
“I worked twelve-hour shifts. I slept in a room with four men. I spent two Christmases alone. Every month I sent enough money so nobody here had to live like this.”
“And nobody did,” Selina snapped.
I looked at Phedra.
“She did.”
Godfrey stepped forward.
“You left her, Damian. Don’t come back pretending you’re some hero.”
Maybe that should have made me hit him.
Instead, something colder happened.
I understood.
If I screamed now, they would defend themselves. If I accused them of stealing my money, they would deny it. Records might show where money went, but I needed to understand who had authorized what, what they had told Phedra, whether signatures had been forged, and exactly how much my family had taken.
