At that moment, Abigail's father stood still, his arms crossed tightly, his chest rising and falling with silent fury. His eyes slowly scanned Abigail from head to toe not with the warmth of a concerned father, but with the cold gaze of a man barely holding his anger together. His lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something, but for a few seconds, no words came out. The room was dead silent, except for Abigail's soft sobs and her mother's low breathing behind her.
Then finally, in a firm and measured tone, he spoke.
"If you know what's good for you…" His voice was low, almost a growl. "Just like Mr. Oliver warned… just like your mother promised him—" he paused, pointing a rigid finger at her, "you will stay far away from anything that has to do with that lady. I don't care what you feel or think. I don't care what you planned or what story you want to spin."
