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Gerald apologised. I told him I didn't hold him responsible for the years he hadn't known about.

He transferred a significant sum into an account he'd set up in my name. Then he arranged things with LSE — a personal donation to the department, and a place for me to audit Economics lectures while I recovered. Not quite the degree I'd been heading for, but the closest available version.

I wasn't going to refuse it. I accepted.

I'd just started to feel as though the worst of it might be behind me when my mother found out where I was.

She didn't come alone. She brought Bryce and Lily.

Before they arrived, she'd spoken to a journalist. The story that appeared described a young woman who had abandoned the mother who'd raised her single-handedly, all for the sake of a wealthy father she'd never known. Several social media posts expanded on this with their own interpretations. Some accused Gerald of historical irresponsibility. Some accused me of opportunism.

The gossip moved quickly in the circles Gerald's family operated in.

I had arrived at the Harrington estate precisely when I was least equipped for any of it.