"Should I be worried that my children look like they're plotting a coup with my parents?" Georgia repeated, her voice smooth but sharp, like velvet wrapped around a blade.
Nobody answered.
The tension in the room crackled like a storm waiting to break.
Keira blinked at her mother, her little lips trembling. "Mommy, we weren't plotting. We were... we were remembering."
Georgia's eyes softened for a fraction of a second, but she didn't let it show. Her arms crossed, shoulders straight, chin high.
"Remembering what? The bedtime stories I used to tell you, or the family that forgot we existed for seven years?"
"Georgia," her mother whispered, standing slowly, her voice uncertain, her hands shaking. "Please—"
"Don't. Don't come any closer." Georgia took a step back, the a
