Passion's Crossfire

Chapter 118

Adam

"I did," Mallory says, her expression turning serious. I furrow my brows, a sense of unease settling in. "What's the matter?" I ask.

"We should sit," Mallory suggests, tugging my hand and leading me to the couch. We position ourselves to face each other, and Mallory takes my hand in hers, looking down at them. With my free hand, I gently tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. "What is it, baby?" I ask softly, a knot forming in my stomach. What could have happened?

Mallory looks at me, her expression pained. "Adam, I'm really sorry to tell you this," she begins. My heart starts to beat frantically. Where is she going with this? "The letters... they were love letters, addressed to your mother, sent by someone named John. I'm so sorry, baby," Mallory adds, her words hitting me like a ton of bricks. My hands feel clammy, and there's a ringing in my ears. I'm left speechless, not knowing what to say or how to feel about this.

Mallory strokes my cheek and looks into my eyes. "Are you okay?" she asks.

"I don't know," I manage to say, my voice barely a whisper. "I just... I don't know."

"I know this is a lot, baby. Do you need some time to process things?" Mallory asks, her concern evident.

I shake my head. I can't let this revelation fester in my mind. Instead, I pull Mallory onto my lap and hug her tightly. She is my anchor, the one I need to face everything. I inhale her scent, and instantly, I feel more relaxed. Mallory kisses my cheek, and the gentle gesture steadies my heartbeat.

"Where are the letters?" I ask, my voice steadier now. Mallory pulls away so she can look at me.

"Are you sure you want to read them?" she questions, a mix of caution and concern in her eyes.

I nod, determination settling in. "Yes, I need to know."

Mallory stands up, and I follow her into the study. She opens a desk drawer and pulls out a bundle of envelopes. Extending her arm, she hands them to me. I take them, feeling the weight of the past within the paper. Walking toward the armchair, I pull a letter out of its envelope and sit down.

I start reading the letters, each one filled with love, passion, and desperation. The words on the page narrate a story I never wanted to know, a secret love affair that unraveled behind the façade of my family. As the dates on the letters confirm the overlap with my parents' marriage, a mix of emotions floods over me—confusion, anger, and profound sadness.

When Aunt Lily hinted at the possibility of my mother's infidelity, I hoped for proof. Proof that would allow my parents to part ways without him losing everything he had worked so hard for. Now, holding these letters in my hands, the proof is undeniable, but it brings with it a heavy weight of sorrow and anger.

My mother betrayed me, and more painfully, she betrayed my father. The life we lived, the memories we had —everything was a lie. How could she do this to him? To us? The pain of the revelation is like a dagger to my heart, and I find it hard to comprehend the depth of her deception.

Mallory sits down next to me, her hand finding its way to my shoulder, her touch a soothing balm on the wounds these letters have opened. I continue to read, my gaze fixed on the parchment but my mind lost in a sea of conflicting emotions. I place the last letter in its envelope, my fingers trembling as I take a deep, shuddering breath.

Mallory gently takes the envelopes from my lap and places them on the desk. She returns and kneels in front of me, her eyes searching mine. "Baby?" she says, her voice filled with concern.

"I'm okay," I manage to say, my voice scratching my throat. The words feel inadequate, unable to capture the whirlwind of emotions raging within me.

Mallory rests her head on my knees, offering silent support. I stroke her hair absentmindedly, my mind replaying the contents of the letters again and again like a broken record. How on earth am I going to tell my father? The weight of that impending conversation presses on me, a burden I never anticipated. It will break him, I'm certain of it.

I know my father still loves her. It's evident in the way his eyes soften every time he looks at her, in the pain that flickers across his face whenever she acts erratically. He's weathered so much for the sake of our family, and the betrayal embedded in those letters is a wound too deep to heal easily. To think that I had these letters all along, unwittingly carrying the evidence of my mother's deception.

When I left my parents' house, I took some books with me from their library—books that I had read and loved. They were more than just stories; they were fragments of my childhood, tokens of a time when everything seemed perfect. I took them to fill the then-empty shelves of my new place, never suspecting that they held the key to unraveling the painful truth.

Now, those books present a solution to the troubles that have haunted my family for so long. A solution to my troubles and, more importantly, to my father's. It hurts, realizing that these letters were in my possession all this time. The depth of the betrayal cuts through me, and I can't fathom how much it will hurt my father.

I glance down at Mallory. "Mallory," I say, my voice low and filled with a heaviness I can't shake off. "I need to talk to my father. I can't keep this from him."

She lifts her head from my knees, her eyes reflecting concern. "Adam, it's going to be difficult, but he deserves to know the truth. Just be there for him."

"How do I even begin to say something like that?" I mutter, rubbing my eyes with my hands. The weight of the truth presses down on me, and the thought of breaking my father's heart makes my chest tighten. I let my hands fall on my thighs, leaning my head back to stare at the ceiling. Mallory takes my hand in hers, offering a silent comfort as she strokes it. I glance at her, and sadness is etched on her face as she gazes down at the floor.

I need to talk to Ted to gauge if my father is well enough to handle such devastating news. I have to be patient and act with caution. The last thing I want is to cause my father another heart attack. Moreover, my mother must not find out that I know about these letters.