That evening was unusually still in the Edwood family's small living room. The lamps cast a soft glow over the old sofa and faded curtain, making the space look warm. Yet for Flora, the air felt heavy, everything seemed colourless and cold.
She sat stiffly beside her son, Darcy. Her hands were twisting together in her lap, not knowing how to break the news to him.
"I got a call… today," Flora said, voice shaky. "From the hospital."
Darcy turned toward her, brows furrowing in mild concern. "Is it about the bill? Because if it is, don't worry. I can take an extra shift at the bar or maybe tutor more students. I'll figure something out."
"No." Flora shook her head quickly. "No. It wasn't about me. It wasn't about my illness either," she said and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "It was about something that happened nearly twenty years ago…"
Darcy's forehead wrinkled, the lines between his brows deepening. He couldn't even guess what this was about. "And?"
