Chapter 2: The Photograph on the Table
Part 2 ⬇️
The room didn't move.
For a moment, nobody breathed.
Then the child at the far end of the table started crying again — louder this time — and it broke the spell.
I was on the floor.
I didn't remember falling.
The side of my face was burning.
My vision kept sliding sideways.
I pressed my hand to my temple and when I pulled it back, my fingers were dark.
Eleanor stood over me.
"You brought this on yourself," she said quietly.
Not shocked.
Not horrified.
Calm.
Like she had seen this before.
Adrian was still standing at the head of the table.
His chest was heaving.
No one in that room moved toward me.
Not one person.
His aunt looked away.
His cousin reached for her wine.
Then a chair scraped back — hard — from the far corner.
Adrian's younger sister, Diane, stood up.
She had barely spoken all evening.
Her face was white.
"Adrian." Her voice came out strange.
Tight.
"Stop."
He turned toward her slowly.
"Stay out of this."
But Diane wasn't looking at him anymore.
She was looking at me — and her expression wasn't pity.
It was recognition.
Like she had been waiting for this moment for a very long time.
She reached into her bag and placed something flat on the table.
A photograph.
"Claire needs to see this," she said.
"Before she spends another night in this family."
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What's in that photograph — and what has Diane been hiding all this time?
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The truth is darker than anyone at that table expected.
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