"He should call me uncle instead," Hans shouted, his voice echoing through the carriage as if it were a cry for justice that the walls themselves were reluctant to contain.
The carriage fell into a heavy silence, the kind that stretches and tightens until it's almost palpable. Barbara stared at him, her eyes wide with shock. She struggled to absorb the significance of Hans's revelation. "What do you mean by that?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mixture of confusion and concern.
Hans, who had been caught up in his outburst, suddenly seemed to realize the weight of his words. He lowered his head and slumped down onto the seat, his face a mask of despair. His lips pressed together tightly as if to stave off further admissions. The silence between them was thick, almost suffocating.
