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Returning to her father’s home felt like stepping into a life she had once been erased from. The road leading there was familiar and strange all at once—dusty bends she remembered from childhood, trees that seemed smaller than memory had promised. Her hands rested in her lap as the car slowed, heart beating with a quiet urgency. She had come with purpose: to tell them about her marriage plans, to ask for what tradition required, and—though she barely admitted it to herself—to see if she still belonged. Her uncle’s house stood where it always had. The gate creaked as it opened. She stepped out, breath held. For a moment, no one spoke. Then her uncle came forward. His eyes searched her face, tracing features that carried echoes of her father. When he spoke her name, it was careful, almos
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