First impressions. Can one ever overcome them?
By the time I began to recover from my parents’ loss, the damage had been done, and I’d gained a reputation as a sulky, disobedient, ungrateful child.
Uncle Eustace was rarely at home, for which I wasn’t the only one who gave thanks.
Aunt Cecily was confined to her bed for some reason which was unspoken in my presence, and when she finally emerged, she was pale and wan, and there was a quiet grief about her. She spent what little time she could with me, but before we could develop any kind of warmth toward one another, she received a message in the post, and the household was thrown into turmoil once again.
“Oh dear God,” Aunt Cecily murmured brokenly.
“What’s wrong, Aunt?”
She looked up at me blindly, tears trickling down her cheeks, an
