The dinner started pleasantly. We talked about the upcoming New York trip, the rugby championship, and the play. Mrs. Elizabeth kept putting food on my plate, asking if I was overworking myself. Caden, though quiet, occasionally glanced at Luke and me with a hint of barely perceptible approval. Somehow, the conversation drifted towards family. Mrs. Jones gently asked about my parents, inquiring what my father did. The air froze for a second. I tightened my grip on the fork, feeling Luke stiffen beside me. Jim shot me a worried look from across the table. "My… my mother is human," I said quietly, avoiding the question about my father. "My dad… he… left us a long time ago." It was the least emotionally charged answer I could muster. A brief, awkward silence fell over the table. An absent fat
