I opened my mouth, ready to speak, but before I could form the words, the man handed me a coat, his movements slow, deliberate, and introduced himself.
"I’ve reached out to you before," the man began, his voice calm and steady. "I’m the head of the American Association at the school you applied to."
"I had an aunt help clean the paint off you."
"This is my house in the country. I don’t come here often, maybe just a few times a year."
"Giselle, I’ve actually known you for a long time."
"My name is Cyrus Hayes, and I knew your father."
"I came to find you at his request. He’s at the school you applied to now."
His words seemed to reach into my mind, pulling out the questions I hadn’t dared ask. Each sentence was a key, unlocking answers I had almost forgotten I was waiting for.
But when he mentioned my father, everything inside me stilled. I was struck silent. It had been so long since I’d heard any news of him.
The figure of my father had faded from my life over a decade ago. If he hadn’t vanished without a trace back then, leaving my mother and me to fend for ourselves, she might never have been so heartbroken that she chose to abandon me and remarry.