Page 101 of Hades

“Why do you let her stay?”

“She’s my mother,” she replied, as if that made all the difference.

How would she feel when she learned the truth? How much pain would come from learning the woman who raised you, the one who didn’t treat you the way a mother should treat a child, might have taken you from the family who never stopped loving you even after you were gone?

“What about your dad?”

She stiffened immediately. Her entire body went rigid like she’d been struck. A small gasp. Her breath caught sharply in her throat. Barely audible but unmistakable in the sudden silence. She pulled back and returned to her task.

“I don’t know anything about him,” she said. Her words were honest. Raw. “My mother won’t talk about him. I don’t even know his name.”

My mind raced.

No father.

A mother who won’t talk about him.

A woman who doesn’t leave the house except for one week a year.

A daughter who looks exactly like Apollo’s mother.

A daughter who goes by the same nickname Apollo gave his sister.

Fuck.

“Nothing?” I asked, keeping my voice neutral.

“Nothing.” She opened the door, and Cerberus bounded outside. “She gets angry if I ask. So I stopped asking.”

Of course she did.

Because if Lettie started digging, if she started asking questions, then the whole fucking lie would unravel.

“That doesn’t seem strange to you?” I asked, leaning against the counter. Watching her. Always watching.

“Of course it seems strange.” She turned back to the pan, the oil already heating. “But what am I supposed to do? Force her to tell me? She’s made it clear she won’t.”

“You could find out yourself.”

She paused, her hand hovering over the pan. “How?”

“Birth certificate. Public records. There are ways.”

“I’ve seen my birth certificate. The line for my father’s name was left blank.” She stirred the vegetables as the oil popped. “But part of me doesn’t want to know. If he didn’t want me, why would I want him?”

Because maybe he did want you.

Because maybe he’s been looking for you for decades.

Because maybe his name is Samson Rush and he’s Apollo’s father and he’s been drowning in grief since the day you disappeared.

I stayed quiet. Processing. Calculating.

“Maybe he didn’t know about you,” I said finally.

The thought had occurred to her. I could see it in her eyes. The way they widened slightly. The way her breath caught.

“Maybe,” she muttered.