MIRABEL’S POV
I always wondered what it would be like to see my father.
When I was younger, I used to lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, imagining what he might look like. Did he have my nose? My eyes? Was he tall? Strong? Did he smile the way I did?
Or was he even alive?
That was the real question, wasn’t it?
For years, I had no answer. No pictures. No stories. No clues. Just an empty space where a father should have been. A name I wasn’t even sure belonged to a real person.
And now—
Now, I was shaking. My hands were sweaty, my stomach twisted into painful knots.
My father was here.
I felt unsteady as I stepped out of the principal’s office, my heart pounding in my chest like a frantic drum. The hallway felt too quiet, too long, every step dragging me closer to something
