"I, William James Archibald, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare this my last will and testament. To my beloved grandchildren, Alastair, Aurelia, Julian, Carver and Ophelia, I leave the entirety of my estate, to be divided equally amongs...
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xi. OPHELIA ARCHIBALD
He was still unconscious. The rise and fall of his chest were so faint I had to lean in to make sure he was still alive.
Why did I even come here?
I really didn't have an answer.
Or maybe I did, I just couldn't accept it.
Julian had refused to come in. He'd said he didn't want to see Grandfather ever again. He said I could call him if I needed anything but he wasn't going to step in for that man. I envied him for that - his ability to stand his ground, to draw a line and never look back. I wasn't like that. I wanted to be but I knew I couldn't.
My eyes fell to the machines beside the bed, their quiet beeping the only sound in the room. Tubes and wires connected to him like chains. I stared back at his face, at the deep lines etched into his skin.
I felt so many feelings. So many that I didn't know what was real anymore. Hatred. Sadness. Anger. And underneath it all, a hollow ache I couldn't name.
I hate him, I thought bitterly, the words clawing at the back of my throat.
My mind drifted back to the USB. To everything that he revealed in it. There was so much I didn't understand, so much that didn't add up. I was so overwhelmed with everything happening in my life and there was so much I didn'twant to understand.
I wasn't interested in knowing about the past anymore. I didn't want to know what my siblings were hiding or what my grandfather was hiding. I just wanted to get past these six months and never look back at this family ever again.
Because digging everything was going to remind me of the past.
The past that I'm trying so hard to put behind.
Because it will remind me of the nights I'd spent trying to please him, trying to earn a sliver of his approval, only to never get it. The way he'd dismissed me, belittled me, made me feel like I was nothing.
Of the day I'd tried to tell him what had happened to me, my voice shaking as I'd forced out the words and he hadn't even looked up from his desk.
"You're being dramatic, Ophelia. Stop wasting my time."
I blinked back tears. My nails dug into my palms. I couldn't cry. Not here. Not now.
I looked at him again. He wanted to see me before he died? Why? Why did he want to tell me about family secrets now? Why now? Why not when I used to keep crying about being left in the dark?
I leaned back in the chair, my head resting against the wall, and closed my eyes. I tried to but it only got memories I didn't want to think of.
I was a child again, maybe nine or ten, standing in his study with trembling hands. I'd been clutching a report card, hoping for a rare smile or some encouragement. Instead, he'd dismissed me with a wave of his hand, his focus already on some document that mattered more than I ever could.
