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WILLOW’S POV

"Who is he, mother? Who is my biological father? Tell me!” I demanded once again, my voice trembling with rage and hurt.

Mother sighed, seemingly bored by my question. She looked at me, her expression feigning pity. Her brown, hazel eyes were cold, devoid of emotion. “He is a nobody, my dear. I made a mistake when I was young and foolish. He doesn’t matter. He never did.”

Raw anger and betrayal coursed through my veins as I listened to her spin a tale of lies about my biological father. How could she do this to me? How could she keep such a vital part of my identity hidden from me for so long without a shred of remorse?

Her voice, which used to soothe me with its warmth and comfort, now sounded like a million little needles pricking my eardrums and causing them to bleed.

Despite my pain at her refusal, she still acted as if she were innocent, pretending to be shocked by the accusations I hurled at her. She claimed that she had always loved me and that, out of that love, s