We tried to act normal at dinner. Mom talked about her day, showing photos on her phone of work friends at some gallery opening. She slid into the chair opposite me with a glow I’d once envied, and for a breath I hated myself for wanting to be both inside that glow and the shadow on its edge.
Lily was quiet that night, distant at her phone. She kept glancing between Mark and me, a flicker of something in her eyes I still couldn’t quite name. Suspicion can be a slow burn; sometimes it’s a bright match, and sometimes it’s a coiling ember.
After dishes, Lily said she was going out with friends and left without ceremony. The house exhaled in her absence. We stowed the sterilized plates in the cabinet and moved through domestic tasks with a practiced grace that masked what hummed beneath.
“I
