They did not rush, and somehow that made it worse. Three officers stepped into the dining room with a softness that clashed with their uniforms, their apologies folding neatly into the linen and crystal as if they’d been invited. Clara rose, silver dress flashing like cutlery under the chandeliers, the only person at the table who seemed to know her role. Her smile was a weapon she’d honed for decades, but from my seat I saw it slip—just a fraction, just long enough to reveal a hollow I hadn’t known was there. Robert’s usual stillness hardened into something weighty, his gaze fixed on the officers as though he’d been expecting them, dreading them, maybe even needing them. James’s hand found the small of my back, anchoring me as words like “audit,” “misrepresentation,” and “misuse of funds” floated over the floral centerpieces. The room tilted. For one wild second, I thought they had come for me, for the sin of still inhabiting the body that had fed my child and refused to shrink back into the size-four pen Clara had drawn for me, the one I used to call discipl… Continues…