"Mom?" I whispered as I entered.
She turned her head slowly toward me, and a weak smile spread across her face. Her eyes focused on the documents partially visible under my jacket, and her smile grew wider.
"Layla," she said weakly. "You found them."
"Mom, what are these?" I moved closer to her bedside.
"The truth," she said simply. "I'll rest easy now, knowing that you'll know the truth and that you'll avenge me."
"Avenge you? Mom, what are you talking about? What truth?"
She struggled to sit up slightly, and I helped her, propping pillows behind her back. Her breathing was laboured, but her eyes were clearer than I'd seen them in years.
"How long have you been awake? I mean, really awake?"
"On and off for days," she admitted. "But I had to pretend. I had to wait for the right moment."
"Wait for what?"
"For you to find those documents. For you to be ready to hear what I have to tell you."
"Ready to hear what?"
"About your father. About what he really is."
