I was right—she’s awake.
“I can’t sleep,” I say. “I have to speak with Father, and I know that I won’t be able to come the morning.”
Mother hesitates, but from her side, Father says, “It’s all right, Galia.”
My chin trembles when I hear his voice, but I take a deep breath and choke back my emotions.
Mother waves her hand to the hall. “Leave us for a moment.”
Shutting the door, I wait until Mother fetches me. Moments later, she lets me in. She’s lit candles, and the room is illuminated with their dim, flickering light.
I inhale softly when I see Father. He sits in a chair near their bed, covered with a woolen throw. He looks thin and pale, and his hair has turned mostly gray.
I’ve only been gone for a couple months. How could this happen so quickly?
“Father.” I hesitate by the door. “I’m so sorry.”
It isn’t enough. What I’ve done can’t be rectified with a simple apology, and I feel worse after saying the words.
Father sighs. “Are you well, Anwen?”
“I shouldn’t have left.”
“You ran away with a man from one of the traveling troupes.” His voice is heavy with disappointment.
I nod, wishing I could deny it. “I did.”
“Did you ever listen to me? What have I told you all these years?”
“The wanderers are trouble.” My voice becomes smaller and smaller. Soon I’ll only be speaking in a whisper.
Mother watches us and wrings her hands, looking as if she wishes she could say something to make us right again.
“You haven’t answered me, Anwen.” He doesn’t sound angry—only tired. “Are you well?”
I blink several times. “Yes.”
Father pushes the blanket aside and walks to me. He is slightly stooped over, and he moves as if he’s in pain. “I’m glad you’re home.”
“Even though I lost your stone?”
After everything that’s happened, I still sound bitter. I wish I didn’t.
“If I can have only one, I would rather have you.”
The sting in my eyes becomes too much, and I fall against him. I murmur countless apologies, but he only strokes my hair and tells me he forgives me.
Just like that.
Suddenly, Father freezes. “Anwen, go.”
I stumble back and then race to the window, pulling aside the dark curtain. The sky just above the silhouetted horizon is no longer black but an ever-lightening blue.
“Out!” Father bellows.
But it’s too late.
Mother rushes to me, yanking on my arm. “Anwen, leave!”
