CHAPTER 61 — MARGARET
I have lived long enough to recognize the sound of a life changing direction.
It does not announce itself loudly. It does not come with fanfare or applause. It arrives quietly—often disguised as exhaustion, resolve, or heartbreak.
When Alexander comes to me that evening, I hear it immediately.
He does not knock. He never knocks when he is a boy again instead of a man. He simply opens the door to my sitting room and stands there for a moment, shoulders rigid, eyes dark with something heavier than anger.
It is done.
I close the book on my lap without looking at the page. My hands know the movement by heart.
“Sit,” I say gently.
He does.
Slowly. As if gravity has increased.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. I let the silence stretch. I have learned that silen
