I sat curled on the edge of my bed, knees drawn to my chest as I hugged myself.
My parents were here, seated across from me in my room, brought in by Bruno after the catastrophe that had nearly cost me my life.
They sat with a certain unease, both of them watching me carefully, like I might break at any moment.
My mother had her hands folded neatly in her lap, the picture of composure, while my father's brow furrowed with tension.
After a long silence, my father finally cleared his throat.
"Maria," he began softly, his tone carrying an edge of guilt, "we're here because… Bruno was worried. He said you needed to hear certain things from us, to understand why things have turned out the way they have."
I looked away, my heart pounding.
"Understand?" How could they expect me to understand?
