The marble floor in the foyer shone beneath the chandelier, each crystal strand catching the light and throwing it back in trembling fragments. Fernando had always thought the chandelier looked like frozen fireworks.
Tonight, it looked like an eye.
Watching.
Judging.
Fernando stepped into the main sitting room and found Elena where she always was at this hour, her wheelchair angled slightly toward the tall windows. Outside, the trees blazed orange and red like a world on fire. Inside, Elena sat in stillness.
Her hands were clenched tight in her lap, knuckles pale.
Her face was beautiful in that quiet, sad way that made people speak in softer tones around her, as if she might break.
Her eyes were fixed on the garden, but they weren’t really seeing it.
It looked like she was waiting.
Waiting for permission to breathe.
Beside her stood Viven Clark, elegant as ever, hair smooth, posture perfect, wearing a cream cardigan like she’d been poured into calm.
She turned when Fernando entered, smile already assembled.
“Fernando,” she said warmly. “You’re home early. Is everything alright?”