Very late.
His hair was messy, his face flushed, and he looked like he had been running.
“Grace,” he said quietly, grabbing my arm. “I need to talk to you.”
Something in his voice made my chest tighten.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Not here.”
He pulled me away from the crowd toward a quiet corner near the back of the venue.
Music and laughter continued behind us, but suddenly everything felt distant.
He leaned closer.
“Grace… you need to know the truth about Dad.”
