The house felt like a storm waiting to break. Every room carried the static of unspoken truths, every wall seemed to echo with the weight of Vanessa’s silence.
Sierra moved through the halls in a daze, her chest tight. She could barely look at her mother without feeling her throat close, and she could barely meet Damien’s eyes without her pulse betraying her. She was stretched thin, unraveling thread by thread, and Vanessa always poised, always immaculate was the one holding the scissors.
That evening, Vanessa announced dinner. Not the casual kind. This was a formal table set with silver polished to a mirror shine, candles lit, and crystal glasses gleaming. It wasn’t an invitation. It was a summons.
Sierra almost begged Damien not to go. But he simply said, “We face her together.”
The
