Aldo
Morning sunshine streamed through the expansive arched windows of the formal dining room, bathing the sprawling dining table in a warm glow. The scent of fresh-brewed coffee and just-out-of-the-oven pastries wafted through the air from the kitchen. An utterly idyllic scene, truly.
And frankly, one that I could not appreciate with my mother and Aurora staring me down like twin hawks. Seated at the head of the table, my mother cut through thickly buttered toast with the efficiency of a lumberjack. Beside her, across from me, Aurora stirred her tea with deliberate focus. But I didn’t miss the way her eyes occasionally flicked up to observe me.
I felt like a man under siege.
I opened my mouth to break the silence—with talk of the weather, golf times, movie tickets, literally anything
