|Theodore|
By the time lunchtime rolled around, the six of us had gathered around the long dining table, but the air was anything but warm. Silence stretched between us like an invisible fog—thick, awkward, impossible to ignore. The clinking of silverware against porcelain became the soundtrack to our shared discomfort.
No one spoke. No one dared to.
No one, except for Camilla.
She filled the room with her voice, bright and persistent, weaving stories from the past like she was desperate to anchor us to something that felt normal. She leaned toward Carmella, eyes glowing with both hope and a touch of nervous energy, recounting memories they once shared—summers at the lake house, nights sneaking out past curfew, the way they used to braid each other’s hair.
And then she shifted, ever
