I sounded eight years old again.
My father’s breath shook.
“Because I believed the papers Evelyn brought me. Because I believed you had chosen to stay away. And later, because when I tried to reach you, every road led back to Jason.”
Evelyn spoke at last.
“Thomas,” she said, and her voice carried a warning beneath its polish. “Enough.”
The line went quiet.
Then my father said, “Iris, leave that place now.”
Daniel took the phone gently from my hand.
“Mr. Caldwell, we need a secure way to contact you.”
“I’ll send one message,” my father said. “One. She’ll understand it.”
The call ended.
No goodbye.
No explanation.
Just absence.
The phone screen went dark.
For a moment, I could not breathe properly. The air felt too thick, the walls too close. The frozen image of my father remained on the laptop screen, his face caught between shadow and recognition.
