The night was quiet, cloaked in a stillness that wrapped itself around the small house. The only sound was the gentle chorus of crickets in the trees, their rhythm almost like a lullaby.
I lay on the narrow bed in the room I had been given, my hand resting against my stomach, as though protecting the secret I still wasn’t ready to face.
My eyes traced the ceiling, but my mind was far away—caught in the memory of the day I had first arrived here three days ago.
The man who had brought me, who had stood like a shield when everything seemed lost, had introduced himself in words that felt like a thunderclap.
“My daughter,” he had said, voice trembling with emotion. “I am your father.”
At first, I thought he was mistaken. I had never known a father, never dared to imagine one. But he did
