“Dad?” Claire’s voice came through the speaker, small and clear. “Are you there? I’m waiting outside the dorm.”

Richard’s eyes remained fixed on the key in Rose’s hand, his expression hardening into something truly dangerous.

He didn’t answer his daughter.

He just stared at us, the silence stretching until the tension in the room was ready to snap.

Richard’s thumb slid across the glass screen, cutting the connection.

The small kitchen went completely silent again.

He lowered the phone slowly, his knuckles white against the black casing.

“I’ll call her back,” he said, his voice flat.

He did not look at the phone; his eyes were fixed entirely on Rose.

Then, slowly, his gaze shifted to me.

“How long has this been going on, Evelyn?” he asked.

His tone was dangerously quiet, the voice he used when a business deal was turning sour.

“Since yesterday,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

“You brought her into our home,” he said.

He stepped closer to the kitchen island, his leather shoes squeaking slightly on the polished hardwood floor.

“I found her, Richard,” I said. “Or rather, the truth found me.”