Two days had passed, and I had successfully managed to evade Christian and Uncle Alfred, concealing the bruise from their watchful eyes. However, a growing sense of concern seemed to permeate Christian's awareness, as he began to question more about my absence. Sensing the need to allay his suspicions, today, I made the decision to join them for breakfast.
My neck, draped in a scarf strategically arranged to conceal the bruise beneath its fabric, I walked into the dining hall, a delicate dance of concealment and normalcy. The scarf, more than a mere accessory, became my shield against prying eyes and the unspoken questions that lingered in the air.
The dining table, usually a place of shared meals and familial warmth, now bore witness to the careful choreography of my movements. Each gla
