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ELEANOR
I sat on the couch, arms crossed tightly over my chest, my jaw clenched in frustration. My father sat across from me in his favorite armchair, the soft, amber glow of the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the room.
The air between us was thick with tension, the kind that had been building for days, weeks—maybe even longer than that. But now, finally, it was all coming to a head.
I looked up at him, my eyes sharp, my voice tinged with the anger and hurt I’d been holding back.
"Why didn’t you tell me, Dad?"
I demanded, my voice quivering slightly as I tried to control my emotions.
"Why did you hide Dante’s identity from me?"
My father sighed, leaning back in his chair as he rubbed a hand over his tired face. The weight of his years seemed to press down
