Chapter One Hundred And One

"Why doesn't anyone see your father?"

It was said during snack time, in harsh and blunt words, like a boulder thrown through stained glass. James winced at the boy across the table, an orange-fingered boy with a brash, wide mouth that put punchlines into all his words.

James did not answer right away. He chewed slowly on his apple instead, narrowing his eyes, compressing his lips into a straight line—the way Amiriam had taught him when he was still speechless.

The other boys were gaping now.

"My brother picks me up," James answered after a while, quietly, even politely. "His name's Luke."

The boy snorted. "That’s not what I asked. I mean your real dad. No one's ever seen him."

James blinked. "He’s just… busy."

"Sure," the boy said with a smirk. "Busy for six years? Sounds fake. Brothers don’t count. They're not real dads."

James didn’t reply. He just turned around.

But stillness persisted.

—

That night, when the sky became pink and the garden outside was filled with cicadas' hums, Am