I slammed my door behind me and leaned against it, my pulse drumming in my ears. The room felt heavier than usual, like the walls themselves were closing in, keeping secrets I wasn’t supposed to find. I flopped onto the bed, the letter still in my hand. My eyes traced every line again, hoping the words would somehow make more sense the second time around.
But then something caught my attention. A word and the tone of it.
“Wait a second,” I whispered. I sat up quickly, pulling the paper closer to my face. The handwriting was perfect, too perfect, but the phrasing wasn’t my father’s. My stomach tightened as I read the greeting again. Sweetheart.
Dad never called me that. Never.
He always wrote honey or love. And he always signed off with Dad, never Alpha Barak. My breath hitched as the r
