A bitter smile curved Alexander’s lips. “Yeah, that’s how she is,” he said with a shrug. “For as long as I can remember, she’s preferred Michael. She’s always been a little hypercritical of me, but it got worse after my father died.”
His gaze shifted to the side, his eyes darkening as that stormy expression overtook his face again. Whatever he was thinking about, it clearly wasn’t pleasant.
I didn’t want to pry—it wasn’t my place to dig into his painful memories, especially not now. “We don’t have to talk about this,” I said, standing and testing the weight on my injured foot. It was uncomfortable, but not unbearable.
“I know we don’t have to,” Alexander replied, his voice steady. “But you’re curious, and it doesn’t make any sense to pretend that everything is normal.”
