THE STRANGER IN MY FATHER & THE WOMAN WHO LEFT ME

The leather seat was cold against my legs, but not colder than the silence between us.

I hadn't said a word since I climbed into the back of my father's car.

And neither had he.

The driver glanced nervously at us in the rearview mirror, probably wondering how a father and daughter could sit so close, yet seem like they were worlds apart.

I couldn't stop thinking about Ethan's face when he realized I knew.

He hadn't denied it.

Not once.

Everything had been real between us, except the truth.

"You've been crying," my father said softly, his voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

I turned my face toward the window. "Not your concern."

"Ava,"

"Don't," I snapped. "Don't act like we have some history. You were a ghost for most of my life. You don't get to show up now and play savior."

He didn't answer right away. The air between us thickened with something unspoken.