Mara
Tiffany and I stayed at the table long after the storm had passed, working through our plates like nothing had happened. Martha kept glancing at us like we were monsters for eating while she wept, but I didn’t care. The bacon was perfect, the eggs fluffy, and I was starving. Pregnant and starving. Sympathy could wait.
“Don’t you have any sympathy?” Martha asked, voice raw as she dabbed her face with a napkin.
I met her gaze calmly, my fork halfway to my mouth. “I’m hungry,” I said through a mouthful. Obvious answer. Tiffany choked down a laugh and focused on her plate.
Martha gathered whatever pride she had left, straightened her clothes, and left the breakfast lounge in silence. The moment she was gone, a strange calm settled in the room.
“Now that Lucian and Darian are back,” T
