Marco didn't move at first. He just stood there, the letter limp in his hand, like it had taken something from him too. The sunlight that had once made the room glow now felt too sharp, too revealing.
"Issa," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please. Don't walk away from me like this."
"I'm not walking away." My throat tightened. "I'm trying to understand."
His eyes found mine — desperate, pleading. "Then let me explain."
"Explain what, Marco?" I snapped, my voice breaking. "That my father disappeared because of yours? That every night I spent wishing he'd come back, every tear, every scar—was all because of something your family did?"
He flinched, the words hitting their mark. "You think I wouldn't undo it if I could?"
"I don't know!" I said, the words tumbling out faster than I could stop them. "I don't know what to believe right now."
The silence that followed was sharp and painful. The air between us felt charged, like the space right before thunder.
Marco ran a hand through his hair, pacing. "My father was involved in a lot of things before I was born. Deals, alliances… I knew some of them were dangerous, but I never imagined—"
"That it would reach me?"
He stopped pacing. "That it would reach us."
Something in his tone made me falter. The look in his eyes wasn't defensive — it was terrified. Not for himself, but for me.
I sank into the chair, my hands trembling. "He said my father left to protect me. From what, Marco? What could possibly have been so bad that he had to disappear?"
Marco looked away, jaw tight. "If my father was involved, it wasn't small. Whatever it was, it had power behind it. Reach."
"Do you think he's still alive?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Marco hesitated. "I don't know. But if your father was running… it means someone was after him."
I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady the rhythm of my heart. "All this time, I thought I was angry because he left. But now… now I'm terrified of why he had to."
Marco knelt in front of me then, his hand hovering near mine but not quite touching. "We'll find out. I'll make it right."
"How?" I whispered.
"I'll start with my father's files. The ones he kept hidden before he died. If there's anything there about your dad, I'll find it."
"And if there's more?" I asked, meeting his eyes. "If what we find isn't something we can come back from?"
His voice softened, breaking around the edges. "Then we face it together."
Something inside me ached — that quiet, stubborn love that refused to die, even when the world tried to tear it apart. I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to.
But part of me — the part that still remembered the little girl crying at the door as her father disappeared — whispered that some wounds never really heal.
I turned my gaze toward the window. The horizon was starting to haze, dark clouds rolling in over the sea.
Maybe it was just weather.
Or maybe it was something else — something coming for us.
I finally said, "Then start digging, Marco. Let's find out what our fathers really did."
He nodded once, a grim promise in his eyes. "We will. But Issa… whatever we find — don't shut me out."
I didn't answer right away. I just stared at the horizon, the first drops of rain tapping softly against the glass.
Because I already knew — once the truth came out, nothing between us would ever be the same again.