Ava’s POV:
The house exhales after my father leaves. Not relief. Adjustment. Like a machine recalibrating itself after an external disturbance. I feel it in the way the lights seem too bright now, in the way the air no longer moves unless someone decides it should.
Margaret dismisses the staff with a look. Theodore says nothing. He doesn’t need to. Silence has always been his preferred method of pressure.
“Go upstairs,” Margaret says finally. “You need rest.”
“I need space,” I reply.
She turns, assessing. “You’ll have privacy. Within reason.”
“That’s not privacy,” I say.
“It’s what you have,” she answers.
Theodore gestures toward the hall. “Don’t make this harder.”
I walk away before either of them can say anything else. Not because I agree, but because staying would give them som
