The dining table at the lake house had always been a place for warmth, laughter, and stories from summers past. Tonight, it was suffocating. The polished mahogany gleamed too brightly under the chandelier, its reflection like a cruel spotlight on Sierra’s guilt.
She sat between her mother and Damien, her fork trembling each time it touched porcelain. Vanessa was glowing as usual, her auburn hair pulled into a loose bun, a glass of wine balanced effortlessly in her hand as she spoke animatedly about her latest design project. “The firm wants me to take on another client in New York,” she said, smiling at Damien. “But I told them no. I want this summer to be ours.”
Damien gave a small nod, his face the picture of devotion. To anyone else, he was the perfect husband, attentive and calm. But
