“I’m… your father,” Justin said. “I—left. A long time ago.” The words sounded thinner than air. Lila blinked. Her face went slack. The silence that followed was a vacuum. “Why are you here?” she finally asked. Her voice was neutral, but her eyes weren’t. They were storm clouds.
Justin hesitated, then exhaled hard. “I’m sick,” he said. “Pancreatic necrosis. The doctors say I need surgery, meds… I didn’t know who else to turn to.” He tried to soften the edges, to sound less like a leech. “I’ve been thinking about all of you, over the years. How are they all?”