The door creaked open behind her.
“Elira?” Her father’s voice broke the quiet.
She turned, slowly, the journal still clutched in her hand.
Her eyes were already glistening, but she held his gaze.
“You’re home,” she said, her voice low.
“I am. I saw the door open and....” He stopped when he saw the journal. His brows drew together. “Where did you find that?” he asked.
Her grip on the journal tightened. “In my drawer, right where I left it.”
Her father stepped further into the room, a cautious look on his face. “You shouldn’t be digging through the past, Elira.”
“I wasn’t” she said “until I had to.”
She held the journal out toward him, flipping to the page she had found. “I wrote this, didn’t I?”
He looked down, read the words, then his shoulders sank.
“Elira...”
“Did you know a
