I fiddled with the pen in my hand repeatedly, unable to shake off the events of the previous night from my mind. Veronica, the dinner, the intense conversations with her, my grandfather, and then my mother. My own home felt like a battleground with her reigning supreme in the center. She demanded everyone to leave, forbidding any contact until dawn, and what baffled me the most was that everyone complied without a word of protest.
Was it blame? Shame? Duty? I couldn't tell, but this morning I woke up early, as usual, having breakfast in solitude. Despite my masochistic tendencies, I lingered longer than necessary hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but eventually gave up past nine o'clock. I wanted to confront her before leaving, to stand my ground and make it clear that I wouldn't be disca
