The silence in the room was suffocating. Leila sat on the edge of the worn leather couch, her eyes fixed on Martin as he paced back and forth, his brow furrowed in deep thought. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for what was about to be revealed. The weight of her father’s secrets pressed down on her like a heavy blanket, and she could barely breathe.
Eric stood off to the side, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. Sophie clutched her knees on the couch beside Leila, her wide eyes darting nervously between the men.
Martin finally stopped pacing and looked at Leila, his gaze piercing. “Your father wasn’t the man you thought he was, Leila.”
Her stomach clenched at his words. She had suspected as much, but hearing it said out loud made it feel all the more real. “What do you mean?”
