The house was quiet, almost deceptively so. Sunlight spilled across the marble floors, the kind of morning light that should have carried peace, but instead it made Sierra’s chest ache. Everything looked too sharp, too clear, as though the brightness itself was exposing the cracks she was trying desperately to hide.
She sat at the dining table, staring at the toast on her plate. She hadn’t touched it. Her stomach was a knot, her hands restless in her lap. The silence pressed against her ears until it was unbearable so much so that when her mother entered, she flinched.
“Good morning, sweetheart.”
Vanessa’s voice was warm, calm, the sound of a woman in complete control. She moved gracefully into the room, a silk blouse draping perfectly over her shoulders, her hair falling into place wit
