"I know logic isn't enough," he said after a pause, his tone dipping even lower, roughened with gentle empathy. "I know your heart screams otherwise. That you should've been there sooner. That you failed them."
His fingers tightened slightly, just firm enough so she couldn't escape his words. So she couldn't retreat into self-hate.
"But Serika," he continued, voice threading between the cracks of her breaking composure, "your father… he needs space right now. He's not ready. When you touched his shoulder, when you stood near him, he didn't reach out. He locked himself away, in grief, in contemplation."
His grip steadied further with one thumb brushing lightly across the side of her trembling wrist. It was a small, grounding gesture amidst the chaos of her contorting heart.
"Pushing yourself on him won't help. But standing strong… giving him the space he needs… will. And it will also honor Lysandra's memory better than tearing yourself apart."
