Sophia
A Tinge of Love and Suspicion.
I barely touched my toast.
The clinking of cutlery echoed in the wide dining room like it was trying to fill the silence between us. Ricci said something—something light, about how the eggs were too salty or maybe the tea tasted off. I couldn’t even remember. My mind wasn’t there.
I just nodded, pretending I was listening, but I never looked up. I kept my eyes on my plate like it was the only thing that mattered.
He noticed. Of course, he did.
But he didn’t say anything else. Maybe he knew. Or maybe he was tired of pushing.
My chest felt tight. Not from the eggs, or the silence, or the guilt about Ricci.
But from her.
Sara.
My sister.
My blood.
The same sister who stood over me once with a pillow in her hands like she was tucking me in. But
