He looked at Mara, lying still on the hospital bed, her face soft, untouched by the chaos outside those walls. I looked at her too. She didn’t deserve this. None of it.
“We’re moving out,” I said.
His hand shot out and grabbed my arm, turning me toward him. “Why?” he asked, voice cracking.
I stared at him like he’d just asked me why the sky was blue.
“Why?” I repeated, my voice barely a whisper.
“You never protected me,” I said quietly, but the words carried weight. “Not once. Not when I was a child. Not when Martha twisted every chance she got to tear me down. You let her lie about me, shame me, push me aside—like I wasn’t your son.”
My father didn’t speak. He just stood there, silent, absorbing the blow.
“You let her get away with it for years. And then you forced me to marry Mar
