EDWARD’S POV
I get home by eight pm.
Pops is in the backyard, playing golf. Or whatever version of golf can be played on a patch of grass behind a house instead of an actual course.
A few guards are scattered around the lawn, keeping watch while he enjoys another peaceful evening after plotting how to make everyone's life worse.
I stop at the edge of the patio, hands shoved into my pockets.
The whole drive here, I've been asking myself the same question. Will he actually tell me the truth?
Probably not.
My father has always been a man of selective honesty. He tells you what he thinks you need and holds the rest back for reasons he considers practical. After Mom died, that tendency got worse. More walls, fewer explanations, longer silences where conversation used to be.
“What are y
