He still wanted to know if I was okay.
And suddenly, sitting across from him while carrying the truth about those letters felt unbearable.
Hersh studied my face carefully now.
Too carefully.
“What are you not telling me, Flick?”
9
FELICITY
What are you not telling me, Flick?
The question settled between us softly.
But nothing about it felt soft.
Because Hersh was looking at me the same way he used to when we were teenagers and he knew I was upset before I even spoke.
Like he could always see straight through me.
And maybe he still could.
Thunder rolled again outside the apartment windows.
The storm was getting closer.
So was the truth.
My fingers tightened around the mug until they hurt.
“Hersh…”
His eyes never left mine.
Patient.
Careful.
But underneath that calm?
I could feel it.
Sixteen years of unanswered questions sitting in the room with us.
My throat burned suddenly.
I looked away first because I couldn’t bear what I was about to do to him.
Not after he’d already suffered enough.
But he deserved the truth.
God help me, he deserved that much.
“My father lied to you.”
