MOTHER, MAY I BURN?
~SIMONE’S POV~
The invitation arrived with my morning coffee. Cream cardstock. Irene's perfect handwriting. "Join me for breakfast. We need to discuss your future."
My future. Not our future. Not the family's future.
Mine.
I found her in the morning room, bathed in golden light from the tall windows. She had positioned herself at the head of the table like a queen holding court.
"Simone, darling. You look tired."
"Long night."
"I imagine so. All that blood must have been traumatic for someone... unaccustomed to violence."
The pause before 'unaccustomed' was intentional. A reminder that I didn't belong in this world of bullets and betrayal.
I sat across from her, noting she had chosen a chair that put her back to the wall. Exit techniques. Even at breakfast.
"
