Her father didn’t knock.
He never did anymore.
The air changed when he stepped inside—colder, heavier. Lily could tell the difference between her sisters’ presence and his. Clarissa and Amara brought perfume and movement and laughter. Her father brought a scent of aftershave and impatience, like he was annoyed at the very idea of standing still.
“Lily,” he said, and even her name sounded unfamiliar on his tongue, like it didn’t fit.
Her fingers froze on the Braille dots.
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