At the center of the table, Margaret Anderson began to cry, no warning, no pretense. The dinner had been set up by Elena as a chance to mend fences between the morellis and the andersons, a carefully managed event meant to feel civil, like a charity gala run by someone used to handling delicate emotions. Aria sat there with Adrian, expecting silence, even frostiness, the quiet standoff one sees when people don't want to look at what they've lost. But Margaret didn't hold back, and her tears rolled down without pause, thick and sudden, that wasn't acting. Valerie had done that before - she'd stage emotions like fashion shows.
This felt deeper, born from places no one could predict, tearing away at Margaret's calm like old paint peeling off wood. "Margaret " Elena rose quickly, startled,
