Lydia's Point Of View
"What shame exactly?"
My father didn't answer.
For a moment the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the phone speaker and the slow ticking of the clock on the wall behind him. The quiet stretched longer than it should have. I could see the silence settling around him like a wall he had decided to hide behind.
His hand remained flat against the table, but I noticed the slight tremor in his fingers. It was small, almost unnoticeable, but it was there.
Rita waited.
At first, I thought she might repeat the question. But when she finally spoke again, the temperature in the room shifted.
"You know something?" she said slowly.
Her voice had lost the restraint it carried earlier. The control was slipping, peeling away piece by piece, revealing something far sharper underneath.
"You people are the ones that should be ashamed."
The words came out with a quiet bite.
My father's jaw tightened.
