Bingo

The air didn't move.

It just pressed in. Heavy. Too quiet for this many thoughts.

Across from me, she still sat motionless—palms folded like a practiced habit, her back straight with unnatural precision. She hadn't blinked since she said it.

It's my father.

I stared at her, and for a while I didn't say anything.

Then, calmly, I asked, "Mary. What do you mean?"

No response.

Not even a twitch.

Her eyes had gone glassy, like she was watching something behind me. Something old.

Something she'd memorized so completely it didn't need words anymore.

Her silence wasn't defiance this time.

It was retreat.

"Mary." I kept my tone even. "Look at me."

She didn't.

So I softened it.

"I'm not here to hurt you. I'm not trying to trap you or corner you. But I need you to answer that question. Because if you don't… people might make decisions for you."

Still nothing.