That sentence hurt more than Elena expected.
Because there was some truth hidden inside it.
She had left.
Not because she didn’t love her father.
But because after their mother died, being home became painful. Every room carried memories. Every conversation reminded her of what they had lost.
She buried herself in work because work was easier than grief.
“I should have visited more,” Elena admitted.
Her brother looked surprised.
“I should have called more. I should have noticed things were changing.”
Thomas reached for her hand.
“You were living your life.”
Elena looked at him.
“And you were my father.”
The room became quiet again.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Julian’s phone rang.
He looked at the screen and walked into the kitchen.
Elena waited.
When he returned, his face was different.
“Who did you call?”
Elena didn’t answer.
“You contacted someone.”
“I spoke to a professional.”
