Chapter 1
The bright family kitchen was supposed to be a place of celebration, a neutral ground where past grievances could be buried beneath the scent of roasted garlic and the clinking of water glasses. Sunlight poured through the large windows, catching the dust motes dancing above the dark wooden dining table. Hannah adjusted the cuffs of her pale blue shirt dress, feeling the familiar, suffocating tension that always accompanied a visit to her sister’s house. She touched her pearl drop earrings, a nervous habit, and forced a polite smile as Monica poured more wine.
"I just think it's time she grew a thicker skin, that's all," Monica said smoothly, leaning against the pristine white cabinets. Her long light-brown hair cascaded perfectly over her dark blouse.
"She's eleven, Monica," Hannah replied, keeping her voice carefully measured. "She's navigating a lot right now. Middle school is a transition."
"Middle school is a shark tank," Monica countered with a dismissive wave of her hand. "If she cries every time someone looks at her the wrong way, she's going to be eaten alive. Right, Adam?"
Adam shifted uncomfortably near the doorway. In his blue button-down shirt, he looked every bit the tired peacekeeper he had become over the years. He offered a noncommittal shrug, avoiding his wife's eyes. "Kids are tough these days," he muttered weakly.
At the table, Olivia sat perfectly still in her simple white sleeveless dress. Her long, tousled blonde hair fell forward, hiding her face, but Hannah could see the rigid tension in her small shoulders. Her pink backpack sat abandoned by the chair.
"I mean, look at her," Monica laughed, a sharp, crystalline sound that held no genuine warmth. "She looks like she’s about to burst into tears just because we’re talking about her. It’s pathetic, honestly. You coddle her, Hannah. She’s too fragile for the real world."
A sharp, metallic clatter shattered the tension. Olivia’s fork slipped from her trembling fingers, bouncing off the edge of the dark wood and hitting the tiled floor. Before anyone could speak, the young girl scrambled out of her chair and ducked straight beneath the table, pulling her knees tightly to her chest.
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"Oh, for heaven's sake," Monica sighed, rolling her eyes. "Are we really doing the under-the-table routine again?"
Hannah didn't look at her sister. The polite smile vanished from her face, replaced by a cold, protective fury. She pushed her chair back, the wood scraping harshly against the floor.
