“Thank you,” I murmured.
Later that evening…
As I approached our little hut, the worn path beneath my feet felt familiar, grounding. But the air was different—thicker, tense, as if something unseen hung in the silence. I paused, tilting my head toward the voices coming from inside. They were low, urgent… serious.
My parents.
“We never told her the truth,” my mother whispered. “And we won’t. If she’s here, she’ll never know anything about herself. Never.”
Their voices cut through me like a blade. My breath caught.
“Dad? Mom?” I called hesitantly, taking a step forward. “What’s going on?”
There was a beat of silence before my father’s voice came quickly, too quickly.
“Nothing to worry about,” he said. “We were just… talking about your surgery.”
But there was something in his tone—ti
