Vael laughed. It wasn't a humorous sound. It was the laugh of a man who has just discovered that the ground he's standing on is actually thin ice.
He laughed once, then stopped. His hands came up to his face, pressed against his eyes.
"That long." It wasn't a question. "That long, and you never told me."
"I'm sorry." Her voice cracked on the word.
"I don't want an apology." He dropped his hands. His eyes were red-rimmed. "Do you know how this looks?"
Vessara didn't respond. But she visibly flinched as though he'd struck her.
"Did you think I wasn't entitled to know?" The hurt crept into his voice now, unbidden. "Did you think I didn't deserve to know my own child existed?"
