They all sat around the large dining table, the atmosphere thick with unspoken tension. Cloe felt a sudden jolt as she scanned the table. Every dish laid out before them was something she had loved, something she had grown up eating. Her chest tightened, and she hitched a small breath, trying to compose herself, but the weight of the moment was suffocating.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the cook standing silently in the doorway, his eyes fixed on her. He knew. He remembered what their Amara loved. The familiarity of it all—the smells, the sights—was too much to bear. Cloe briefly locked eyes with the cook, who gave a subtle nod, but she said nothing. Her heart was racing, her mind a whirlwind of memories.
Bryan, seated across from her, noticed the tension and couldn’t resist twisti
