Morning sunlight spilled gently across the kitchen tiles, warm and soft, warming the air with a glow that made the room feel peaceful, too peaceful, compared to the chaos that had just unfolded in the living room.
Eve kept her back to the counter, frying pan in one hand, spatula in the other, eyes fixed on the eggs sizzling in front of her. She moved with an almost delicate care, as if turning the eggs too harshly might somehow stir the residue of Kimberly’s screaming back into the house.
But she’d heard everything.
Every accusation.
Every denial.
Every tear.
Every truth Ryan had thrown at his sister without hesitation.
And she wasn’t sure what part had shaken her the most, the confrontation, or the quiet, unwavering resolve in Ryan’s voice when he defended her.
Footsteps approache
