Micah stood in front of Clyde, his chest rising and falling unevenly. His eyes were moist, the sheen of unshed tears making them brighter, sharper, a mirror of his heartbreak and fury colliding at the same time. His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms.
Thousands of questions roared inside his skull, nearly drowning out the sound of his own breathing. Why didn't anyone step in? Where was your mother? Your siblings? Why didn't you run? Why didn't you call for help? Why…why would your father do this to you?
But knowing the answers felt useless. Even if he knew…would it change anything now? It had been more than ten years. And the man…the predator was already gone from this world. Asking would do nothing except tear open a wound Clyde had fought to keep bound shut. It wouldn't help Clyde at all.
