Her words hit harder than I expected.
“I do belong here,” I shot back, though my voice wavered slightly. “My father left this house to me.”
Deborah’s expression flickered—just for a second—but I caught it. Something unreadable. Something… almost like guilt.
“Your father,” she repeated quietly, setting her cup down. “Funny man.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She stood up slowly, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. “It means,” she said, her voice losing that sharp edge for the first time, “that things aren’t always what they seem. Especially when it comes to him.”
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