"Truth? Was there ever truth in this family while I was left in the dark about my origin?" Desmond's voice trembled as fury burned in his chest.
"Do you speak the truth? Yet you couldn't accept that an adopted son is still a son?" His tone was a mixture of grief and accusation.
"I'm beginning to see the Allen family differently—a family more obsessed with bloodline than with loyalty or love."
Elder Allen's face darkened like an approaching storm. He wouldn't allow Desmond to tarnish the family name any further.
With emotions spiraling, Desmond felt the ground beneath his feet shift. If this continued, he feared he might collapse or completely lose control. But still, a deeper question pulled at his core and he needed answers.
Torn between storming out of the hospital ward or staying to hear the rest, his mind spiraled. He wanted to know the truth. Where did he come from? What was real?
Then the old man's voice broke through his thoughts, calm and deliberate:
