“We both have a lot of responsibilities to manage,” Margaret said, her eyes shifting to her father before returning to me. “With Mother gone, there are so many details to protect, and we have to be careful with the family assets.”
The roast chicken tasted slightly dry, and nobody reached for the butter dish. Daniel checked his watch twice before the plates were cleared, while Margaret watched every move I made.
By eight o’clock, the silence between the clinking of our forks had grown heavy enough to press against my temples. I excused myself to use the powder room, needing a moment to wash my hands and clear my head.
The hallway was carpeted in a thick wool runner that swallowed the sound of my sensible low heels. I walked slowly, admiring the gold-framed landscapes on the walls, trying to imagine my own small belongings fitting into these grand spaces.
As I passed the half-open door of Garrett’s study, I heard Margaret’s voice, no longer polite.
“You have to think about the transition, Father,” she was saying, her tone sharp as a razor.
