FAYE
The moment Irene and I stepped into Helen’s room, the air felt charged—tight, like something had already shattered and we were walking in on the echo of it.
Helen was standing near the dresser, her back half-turned to us, movements sharp and angry as she began to pace. The calm composure she’d worn earlier was gone. This was a different version of her—raw, offended, pride bristling like exposed wire.
“Mom?” Irene said carefully. “What just happened? What was the noise about?”
Helen didn’t look at her. “What happened,” she snapped, “is that your brother has completely lost his mind.”
I glanced at Irene before stepping closer. “Helen, please,” I said gently. “Let’s just talk. No one is attacking you. Alexander is just—”
“—power-drunk,” Helen cut in, finally turning to face us. Her
