~Katia~
My mother called on a Sunday morning, which was already suspicious. Martha Kensington did not make casual calls. Every call had a structure, a purpose, and an agenda she had prepared in advance and would execute regardless of your participation. Calling on a Sunday morning, when she knew I'd be home, when she knew Aiden would be eating breakfast and I'd be two coffees in and marginally more agreeable than on a weekday, was not a coincidence. That was scheduling.
"Darling," she said, which was the first warning sign. Martha reserved "darling" for moments when she wanted something significant.
"Mother."
"I thought it would be lovely to have you and Aiden for Sunday lunch. Nothing formal. Just family."
Just family. The woman who had thrown me out of her house in a bathrobe at twe
