That evening, I found myself once again in the guest room, the same room that felt both familiar and alien. Mark arrived shortly after, his presence filling the space with an unspoken tension.
We sat across from each other, the distance between us a chasm filled with uncertainty. I could see the strain in his eyes, the weight of whatever he needed to say evident in his posture.
“I owe you an explanation,” he began, his voice steady but tinged with regret.
I nodded, urging him to continue, my heart pounding in my chest as I braced for whatever was to come.
“There are things you need to know about your father and me, things that go back further than you realize,” he said, his words careful and deliberate.
I listened intently, my mind racing to piece together the fragments of truth he was offering. The room seemed to grow colder as he spoke, the weight of his confession settling heavily over us both.
“This isn’t just about us,” he continued, his gaze finally meeting mine. “It’s about a promise I made, a debt I owed.”
His words hung in the air, the implication of a hidden past slowly coming into focus.
“What promise? What debt?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper as I struggled to comprehend the magnitude of his confession.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
