The next day was Sunday.
The house felt unusually alive.
Sunlight spilled through the tall dining room windows, warming the marble floors in soft gold.
The scent of coffee and buttered toast filled the air. Plates clinked gently. Cutlery scraped porcelain.
Everyone was present.
I stood at the staircase for a second before descending calmly.
That was how I wanted to do this.
Elena was animated as usual, gesturing with her fork as she entertained us.
"You won't believe how ridiculous Monica's florist is," she said, laughing lightly. "They want imported peonies flown in from Paris in this weather. I told her it's impractical—"
I pulled out my chair quietly and sat down.
Victor didn't look at me at first. He was reading something on his tablet, coffee beside him, posture straight as always.
Lily noticed me before anyone else.
"Aunty!" she squealed and rushed over, wrapping her small arms around my waist.
I held her.
Too tight.
