Father doesn't react at first. His eyes aren't on her stomach but on her face, scanning it over and over again, reading her eyes searching desperately for the truth, whatever it is.
And then his face pales slightly. He clears his throat and sets his utensils down while I watch in shock, wondering how he hasn't passed out or started shouting at her yet. Father grabs his cloth napkin and dabs lightly at his mouth, picking up his wine with a steady hand and taking a small sip before setting it down with a crisp exhale.
"I'm sorry," she says.
He seems to change his mind, picking the glass back up for another sip.
"You owe me nothing. Nothing at all. And I expect nothing of you."
Another sip, this one longer. His hazel eyes flicker shut, and there's no sign at all on his face that he's hearing her words.
"I know it's unfair for me to drop this on you, not after everything I've done, after how long it's been, but—" Mother inhales shakily, her hand gripping the back of her chair tightly and her hair falling in her face as she directs her focused look down on Father's plate of dinner. "I can't—I couldn't keep it to myself any longer."
He puts the wine down, tapping his ring against it once, twice, three times.
"I haven't even told Col, or my mother. I didn't want to tell anyone, not until I at least figured out a plan and..." she falters, swallowing thickly and bringing a hand up to clasp her chest. "I just... I needed someone tonight. Someone to tell, cause—fuck—this doesn't feel like it's actually happening," she laughs dryly, and it takes one look at her face to know she's laughing so she doesn't cry, "and I need—I need to accept that it is, and..."
Father opens his eyes. His hand tightens and loosens around that cloth napkin, but still, he does nothing.
"I think I'll go."
His head snaps up to look at her in alarm, but this time, she's not looking at him. She's busy pulling her loose robes back on, fumbling with the clasp.
