“How could you do that to me?” she asked brokenly, the anger suddenly leaving her in a rush, leaving behind an awful hollowness.
“How did you find out?”
“Is that all you can say?”
Tamsyn stood and waited for his response, but he simply continued to stare her down. The generous lover who’d left her bed yesterday morning was a far cry from the man standing before her now.
“The storm did some damage, broke a window in the room with the locked door. I was trying to clear it up a bit from outside when I saw a picture on the wall.”
“Show me.”
She turned and went back up the hall, standing outside the now-open door and gesturing inside. Finn stood next to her as he surveyed the damage, the twisted blinds, the remnant of tree branch still dangling from the window frame.
“You broke into the boxes? Into their personal effects?” he asked.
“Wouldn’t you?” Tamsyn defended herself and pushed past him to pick up the album that had held the damning evidence that showed his complicity. “Who is this?” she demanded, stabbing at a photo of the blonde girl.
“That’s Alexis.”
The name was familiar. Yes, the designer. “Alexis Fabrini?”
“She’s your half sister.”
Tamsyn wobbled on her feet, her legs suddenly as weak as if she’d emptied a flagon of wine straight down her throat. It was only the solid presence of the doorjamb that kept her upright. She had a sister? She looked at the photo again, this time noticing the similarities between them, the things they’d both inherited from Ellen.
“Is there anything else you’re not telling me?” Her voice was weak, thready with shock. She let out a bitter laugh. “Why am I even bothering to ask? I’ve got no reason to believe anything you tell me anymore—or ever again.”
* * *
Finn tried to ignore the clawing pain in his chest. He had known this would come to pass, that he’d hurt Tamsyn immeasurably. He’d just hoped to stave it off for longer, for Ellen’s health to rally and for Lorenzo to perhaps agree to let Tamsyn visit her mother in the hospital. Then he could have told her the truth himself—broken it to her gently. He’d never wanted her to find out like this.
“Look,” he said, shoving a hand through his hair, “Ellen is a much loved member of this community. If people didn’t talk about her it’s because they wanted the best for her—to protect her.”
Pain streaked across Tamsyn’s face, leaving it even paler and more drawn than it had been seconds ago.
“Protect her from me? Her own daughter? Why, Finn? Why wouldn’t I be considered to be the best for my mother?”
His arms ached to reach out and comfort her. Finn closed his eyes and wished fiercely that he could turn back time, could avoid the trip that had taken him away from Tamsyn and left her alone when she was exposed to the truth.
“I guess most people feel that you took your time trying to find her.” The words sounded lame, even to his ears.
“But you know I only found out this year that she was even still alive. She walked away from us, Finn. She left her two children in the hospital—injured in an accident she caused—and never looked back. Abandoned us, for what? So she could be with her lover?” Tamsyn stabbed her finger now at a picture of Lorenzo. “I didn’t know where she was, Finn, you know that and I know that. Ellen, however, knew exactly where Ethan and I were and she never tried to contact us. I want to know why. Don’t I deserve to know why she left us and why she never came back? Why was she happy to be dead to us?”