-Zayn-
The kitchen hummed with the sound of running water and the clinking of dishes as I stepped out, letting the warmth of the room wash over me for just a moment. Lizzie had volunteered to help Mom, and out of an instinctive urge to protect her from my father's scrutiny, I'd encouraged her to stay. My gaze flickered briefly to the doorway where I left her, hopeful that she felt at ease, surrounded by familiarity.
But now, I had to face my father. I hesitated, then walked into the dimly lit living room, where he lounged in his favorite battered armchair, a glass of scotch resting in his hand. The television flickered with the muted sounds of some late-night news, but I knew he wasn't watching. His dark eyes were glazed, lost in thoughts that felt as heavy as the silence enveloping us.
