“She loves you,” he said.
“I know.”
“She needs you.”
I couldn’t answer.
“She’s not like your mother,” he added. “She’s just a girl who grew up lonely. She wants somewhere to belong to.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
I pushed back from the table. “Tell her I said goodbye.”
Dad didn’t argue. “I’ll tell her.”
I left before Pippa came back. I couldn’t see her cry again. Not because of me.
And she was crying because of me.
It was always because of me.
I walked out of the restaurant, jaw tight, fists clenched.
The past had a way of clawing its way into my ribs and settling there like old injury pain.
By the time I pulled into my driveway, my mood was a dark storm.
I slammed the car door harder than necessary.
The mansion felt colder than usual. Quiet. Too quiet. My head ac
