JUDY’S POV
The atmosphere at the breakfast table was thick with unspoken tension. My mom, cheerful as always, was trying her best to keep the mood light, chatting with Chris about petty things like the weather and the local coffee shop’s pastries.
Chris played along, answering politely and even cracking a few jokes. However, I could see the strain on his face—the way his shoulders were just a bit too tense, the way he avoided glancing at my dad.
My dad, on the other hand, barely acknowledged Chris. He sat at the head of the table, silently sipping his coffee and reading the newspaper.
The occasional rustle of paper or clink of silverware against a plate punctuated the silence, but it was clear he was biding his time. I knew my dad well enough to recognise that the storm was coming.
