But his hands shook when he held me.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
That broke something in me.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. There was no collapse, no sobbing into his shoulder. Just a quiet crack running through the part of me that had been holding myself upright since I crawled out from beneath that bed.
“I was stupid,” I said.
“No.” His voice hardened instantly. “You were trusting. Those are not the same thing.”
Rebecca stepped closer, her expression soft but focused. “Ella, do you still have the recording?”
I nodded.
“In full?”
“Most of it. I started recording after Elias laughed about pretending he wanted me.”
My father closed his eyes.
For a second, I wished I had not said it. Not because it wasn’t true, but because there are some things a father should never have to hear about his daughter’s wedding night.
Rebecca’s gaze flickered toward the laundry bag. “And the dress?”
