"Come home," my father says, before I even get a word out. "Whenever you're ready. The gates are open."I hang up before I can cry into the phone, and I don't tell Damon about the call.He corners me in our room that night, catching my hand before I can pull away, his thumb tracing slow circles over my knuckles."You've been quiet lately," he says, soft, careful. "Is something wrong?"I watch his eyes for the flicker underneath the softness, checking, testing, seeing if I've found the folder buried in his desk drawer. Divorce papers, drafted, my signature line still blank."Nothing's wrong," I say, and his shoulders drop, relieved.Seraphine's already left a nightgown draped across our bed by the time he pulls me toward it—pale silk, unfamiliar, a scent under the fabric that isn't mine."Wear it," he says, not quite meeting my eyes. "For me."I put it on because refusing costs more than wearing it does. His hands find the fabric and his breath catches on a name he doesn't say out loud
最終更新日 : 2026-08-10 続きを読む