Page 55 of Sinner’s Torment

My stomach twisted.

I’d only made it halfway through the first year.

“No,” I said softly, staring down at my plate. “I didn’t finish.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but not judgmental. Just... sad.

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” Mom said, coming over to set the serving plate on the table. She squeezed my shoulder as she passed. “You can always go back. It’s never too late.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

Chris brought over a fresh pot of coffee and refilled everyone’s mugs, the clink of ceramic against ceramic the only sound in the kitchen. Tracy went back to her phone. Duke took another sip of coffee and stared out the window at the barn.

And Dad kept watching me.

I could feel his gaze like a physical weight, pressing down on me, searching for something I wasn’t ready to give. He’d always been able to read me better than anyone else. Always knew when I was lying, when I was hiding something, when I was in trouble.

And right now, I was all three.

“Brandy,” he said quietly, setting his fork down. “How far along are you?”

The world stopped.

I froze, my fork halfway to my mouth, my breath catching in my throat. The kitchen went silent—no clinking dishes, no humming, no scrolling phones. Just dead, suffocating silence.

I looked up slowly, my eyes wide, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst out of my chest.

“What?” I managed to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.

“How far along are you?” Dad repeated, his voice calm and steady, like he was asking about the weather.

Mom turned from the stove, her hand flying to her mouth. Duke straightened, his coffee mug frozen halfway to his lips. Tracy’s phone clattered onto the table. Chris stopped mid-step, the dish towel still in his hands.

“Dad—” I started, but the words died in my throat.

“You have the same look your momma had every time she got pregnant,” Dad said, leaning back in his chair. His expression was unreadable—not angry, not disappointed, just... knowing. “So how far along are you?”

Tears burned at the back of my eyes, hot and stinging and impossible to hold back. My hands started shaking, and I set my fork down before I dropped it.

“I—” My voice cracked. “I don’t⁠—”

“Brandy?” Mom’s voice was soft, gentle, as she moved around the table and knelt beside my chair. She reached out and took my trembling hands in hers, her touch warm and steady and so full of love it broke something inside me. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. Just tell us.”

I looked at her—at her kind eyes and her worried expression and the unconditional love written all over her face—and the dam broke.

“Three months,” I whispered, the tears spilling over and running down my cheeks. “I’m three months pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like a confession, like a sin I couldn’t take back.

Mom squeezed my hands tighter, her own eyes filling with tears. “Oh, baby.”

Duke set his coffee mug down with a heavy thunk. Tracy leaned back in her chair, running a hand through her hair. Chris just stood there, staring at me like he didn’t know what to say.

And Dad—Dad just watched me with those sharp, knowing eyes.

“Who’s the father?” he asked quietly.

My breath hitched, my chest tightening until I couldn’t breathe. I looked at him—really looked at him—and saw the question behind the question. Saw the understanding in his eyes, the recognition of something he’d hoped I’d never be part of.