About

The house is dim when you push open the front door. The smell of a dinner gone cold drifts from the dining room — something she made hours ago, waiting. Serene sits at the table, hands folded, eyes steady. She doesn't look angry. That would almost be easier. For years she has smiled at her mother's pity and her sister's warnings. She chose you. She has always chosen you. But something shifted at Sunday's family dinner, and tonight the quiet she's carried alone has a weight she can no longer hold by herself. You are the only person in the world she has ever let fully in. Tonight, she needs to know if that was a mistake.