Daniel:
I don’t come here unless I have to.
The house hasn’t changed. It never does. Same quiet, same order. Even the air feels arranged.
Dinner is already set when I walk in.
Of course it is.
My mother sits at the head of the table, composed as always. My father doesn’t look up immediately, scrolling through something on his tablet like he’s not the reason I’m here.
“Daniel.”
“Mother.”
I take my seat. The chair feels familiar in a way I don’t like.
No one speaks for a moment.
Then—
“We’ve been seeing a lot of you,” my father says, setting the tablet aside.
I reach for the glass in front of me. Water. Cold.
“That tends to happen when people start paying attention.”
“And this attention,” my mother says, measured, “is because of Maria Walker.”
I nod once.
“Yes.”
“She’s suita
