–Livana–
My father was bailed out and arrived in the afternoon. The moment he saw me, he rushed forward, fell to his knees, and reached for my hand—his trembling fingers brushing mine like a sinner clutching for salvation.
"Please… forgive me." His voice cracked. He pressed his lips to my hand, desperate. "I'm sorry, Livy…"
I stared down at him, my face an unbroken mask of calm. There is no forgiveness for him. Not now, not ever. If Mother were here to tell me to forgive, I might have listened. But she's dead—and with her death, forgiveness was buried too.
"Are you on your knees?" I asked, my tone as level as a blade balanced on its edge.
"Yes."
"Get up. Even if you kneel for an entire year, I won't forgive you." My words were soft, almost kind—but frozen to the core.
"What can I do?" he asked, voice trembling. "Tell me, Livana. Please."
