AUNTY TRACY’S POV
I’ve always known when trouble is near. It’s a feeling that settles in my bones long before words catch up, a tightening in my chest, a restlessness that won’t let me sit still. It’s the same feeling I had years ago when Lavender’s mother shut the door on her, the same one I felt when Lavender showed up at my place with nothing but a suitcase and a broken smile.
And now, sitting at the small table in the Robinson estate’s guest wing, watching Lavender pretend to sip tea she hasn’t touched, that feeling is screaming at me.
She’s quiet, too quiet. Her shoulders are hunched like she’s bracing for another blow, one hand resting protectively over her stomach, fingers trembling slightly. She keeps staring into space, eyes unfocused, like she’s replaying something she doesn’t
