Ora
After dinner, we sat in the study room, I was behind the desk going through all the articles and printed researches, while Emery was sitting on the recliner reading through a history book about some weapons.
My biological mother was beautiful, she had blonde hair that fell in her back, she had gorgeous blue eyes, my dad had golden brown eyes, so that is where I get most of my looks from. Every time that I think about it, my heart feels heavy because I am reminded that my life had been a lie.
“My mother cared for me like I was her own,” I said, as I bit the end of the pen, thinking.
“It seemed that way,” Emery stated.
“She cared for me so much that I never felt as if I was unwanted, shouldn’t she have been feeling angry that I was the result of that affair?” I asked, as I finall
