Klaus’s POV
Everyone kept chatting—light, meaningless conversation buzzing around the table like white noise—but I was stuck. Staring at a six-year-old quietly flicking broccoli off his plate like it had done him personal harm. A habit I didn’t even realize was mine until I saw it reflected in someone else. In him.
Gina sat beside him, her shoulders tense, her eyes darting between the table and her son like she was waiting for someone to say something cruel. Like she was bracing for it.
No one did. Not out loud, anyway. But that silence? That awkward, pointed silence following every polite smile and averted gaze?
That said enough.
They didn’t want her here. Not really. Maybe they tolerated her because of Bernard. Maybe because they had no choice. But they didn’t want her at this table
