Her breath shook.
“I’ll earn it back if you let me.”
You didn’t forgive her that day.
But you didn’t hang up either.
That was enough.
Your father was harder.
He showed up outside the safe apartment three weeks later, holding a paper bag from the diner you loved as a child.
Damian’s guard would not let him inside.
You went downstairs but stayed behind the glass door.
Your father looked smaller than you remembered.
“I brought soup,” he said weakly.
You stared at him.
Soup.
As if soup could fill the place where courage should have been.
“Did you know he hit me before the wedding day?” you asked.
His face twisted.
“I suspected.”
The answer hurt worse than yes.
Because suspected meant he had room to pretend.
“You walked me down the aisle.”
He lowered his head.
“I thought I could fix it after.”
“After what? After I signed myself over to him?”
Tears filled his eyes.
“I was afraid.”
