Chapter 2
Hannah knelt slowly beside the dark wooden dining table, her pale blue dress pooling around her knees on the cold tile. She ignored the dropped fork lying inches away. Beneath the heavy shadows of the table, Olivia sat with her knees drawn tight against her chest, her small frame shivering in the white sleeveless dress. Her hands were pressed firmly over her ears, a desperate attempt to block out the world above.
Hannah did not pull her out. She simply extended an open, steady hand into the shadowed space, leaving a few inches of distance between them.
"Sweetheart, we're leaving," Hannah said, her voice a soft, unwavering anchor in the chaotic room.
Olivia slowly lowered one hand from beside her ear. Her blue eyes were wide, brimming with unshed tears, as she peered through the veil of her tousled blonde hair. She looked at her mother’s outstretched hand, her voice barely a whisper.
"Are you mad at me?"
The raw vulnerability in her daughter’s question broke something deep inside Hannah’s chest. Her expression softened instantly, all the lingering anger in her eyes melting into profound, unconditional love. She gently shook her head, the pearl drops swaying from her ears.
"No," Hannah said softly. "You did nothing wrong."
Above them, the oppressive atmosphere of the kitchen shifted. Monica leaned slightly over the table, peering down at the two of them with an exasperated sigh.
"Hannah, they were only joking," Monica said, her tone dripping with condescension. "You’re validating a tantrum."
Hannah did not stand up. She did not raise her voice. She simply tilted her head upward, locking eyes with her sister. The warmth she had just shown her daughter was entirely gone, replaced by a quiet, immovable steel.
"She wasn't laughing," Hannah stated, her voice quiet and absolute.
Beneath the table, Olivia let out a shaky breath and reached forward. Her small, trembling fingers met Hannah’s waiting hand. Hannah closed her fingers gently but firmly around her daughter's, sealing a silent promise of protection.
She turned her head just enough to address the man standing frozen near the doorway.
May you like
"Adam, get our coats."
The finality in her tone left no room for debate. Adam nodded quickly, turning away from Monica’s shocked expression and moving swiftly toward the coat hooks in the hall, while Monica, for the first time all afternoon, fell completely silent.
