Layla leaned forward and wrapped her arms tightly around Avery, the fabric of her coat brushing against Avery's cheek. Her voice came out in a broken whisper, barely audible over the soft clinking of cups and murmured conversations in the café.
"Avery… I had a terrible fight with Dada some days ago," she said, her voice trembling like it had been holding back for too long.
Avery stiffened, shocked. She gently unwrapped Layla's arms and pulled back, her brows furrowed as she searched her sister's teary eyes. "What?" she breathed out.
A fight? With Dada?
Avery couldn't recall a single time in her life when her father had raised his voice—let alone fought with anyone, especially not Layla. He was always the calm in every storm, the one who listened patiently, even when emotions ran high.
She helped Layla settle into her seat and sat down across from her, leaning forward. "Layl… why did you have a fight with him?" she asked softly, trying to keep her voice gentle and nonjudgmental.
