My parents led us into the house as if they were moving in a trance.
For several long minutes, they said nothing at all only stared at Leo, their faces drained of color. He sat neatly on the couch, knees together, eyes flicking between them and me with quiet uncertainty.
My father finally spoke, his voice unsteady.
“There’s something about this… it feels familiar.”
“It should,” I replied calmly. “Because you know who his father is.”
My mother frowned. “What do you mean? Who are you talking about?”
I held my father’s gaze. “Do you remember Robert Keller?”
His reaction was immediate.
Robert Keller had once been my father’s business partner. A trusted friend. He used to join us for dinners, laugh with my parents, ask about my school and my interests—far more attention than was appropriate. He was fifteen years older than me, always smiling, always lingering.
