I stared at the closed door long after Leland left, the weight of his disappointment crushing my chest. The silence in our drawing room felt oppressive, accusatory. My carefully constructed life was crumbling around me, and I had no one to blame but myself.
When the door opened again, I startled, half-hoping it was Leland returning with forgiveness in his eyes. Instead, his solemn face revealed he was still struggling with the revelations about my past.
"We need to talk, Mariella," he said quietly, closing the door behind him. "Not about what you should do, but about why."
I turned away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. "I've told you everything already."
"No." He moved to sit across from me, close enough that I couldn't escape his presence but far enough to give me space. "You've told me what happened, not why. There's more to this story than you're sharing."
His gentleness broke something inside me. It would have been easier if he'd continued to rage, to condemn.
