The next morning arrived with a cool breeze filtering through the large windows, and I wheeled myself into the dining room, the smell of fresh toast and eggs wafting in the air. My father sat at the head of the table, already focused on a newspaper, while Jerom lounged carelessly, pretending he hadn’t seen me come in. I took my place across from them, my usual silence wrapping me like armor.
But today, there was something different in the air. The tension was palpable even before my father folded the paper, his eyes landing on me with a steady weight that told me a decision had been made.
“Martins,” he said, setting the paper aside, “I’ve made a decision.”
I met his gaze, staying silent.
“After what you accomplished in Italy,” he continued, casting a sidelong glance at Jerom, “I’ve dec
