Franklin stood stiffly in the middle of the living room, his hands clenched so tight his knuckles had turned white. Delilah’s words still echoed in his head, each one landing like a blow he hadn’t been prepared for.

“Franklin… he’s your brother, and you have to accept that,” Delilah said again, her voice breaking as tears streamed freely down her cheeks.

He let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and cracked. His head shook slowly, disbelief written all over his face.

“He’s my brother?” Franklin asked quietly, as though repeating it might somehow make it make sense. “Does he even know?” His eyes lifted to hers, sharp and wounded....