ISOBEL
I stood outside my father’s office and hesitated to knock. My fists were clenched as I just stood there and stared at the wooden door. The man inside wasn’t the father I had once known. He had turned cold, and distant, and now, he was was more of a ghost than a parent, and yet, here I was, trying to make things right again.
I took a deep breath to brace myself and then I knocked on the door.
“Enter,” I heard his voice from the other end his usual strict tone.
I twisted the door handle and walked inside, and I unconsciously glanced around the dimly lit room. It was just as I remembered and nothing had changed since the last time I came in here. The dark furnitures, tall bookshelves, and the faint scent of old books and ink. My father sat in his desk, and he was so busy writing so
