Fallon
I should’ve known breakfast would be a battlefield.
The dining room was already buzzing when we walked in — my mom’s voice pitched too high, the clink of silverware against porcelain, the quiet hum of tension just beneath the surface.
Oliver and Elise sat at one end of the table, their heads bent together in low conversation. Bianca scrolled on her phone, perfectly manicured fingers tapping the screen like she was already over this entire gathering.
And my dad? He sat at the head of the table, silent and watchful, his presence a gravity that pulled everyone’s moods down with it.
Reid’s hand brushed the small of my back as we found our seats — a light, familiar touch that shouldn’t have made my pulse jump the way it did. But I was still trying to shake off the memory of waking u
