An hour had passed since dinner ended. Madam Laura and my mother, Cynthia, now sat on the balcony, their mugs cradled in hand, steam curling into the night air as they leaned into a conversation that seemed to spark genuine excitement. In the kitchen, Isabelle, Aurora, and Loraine were busy shaping gingerbread dough, their laughter mingling with the scent of cinnamon as they chatted about their careers—dreams rising like steam from the oven. Meanwhile, Simon and Adaira were deep in a Scrabble match while sitting curled up on the rug, their playful rivalry unfolding one word at a time across the coffee table.
Their laughter was a soft counterpoint to the storm brewing elsewhere.
Where is he?
My heart sank when Mr. Evans didn't join us for dinner. Madam Laura explained that he'd returned
