Sadie’s POV
He limped ahead of me, his cane striking the floor in that uneven rhythm I had memorized as a child. I followed, my jaw clenched, my fists balled at my sides.
The kitchen was unchanged – same table, same cabinets, same smell of coffee and damp wood. I sat down across from him. He lowered himself into his chair with a wince, setting the cane against the armrest.
"Well?" he said.
"Taylor Blackwood is the father of my child."
I hadn't planned to start there. I had planned to lead with questions about the forest, about the wolves, about the things he had hidden from me. But the words had bypassed my brain and come out of my mouth like shrapnel, and now they were sitting on the table between us, bleeding.
My father didn't move. Not a flicker. Not a twitch. His face was stone.
