Daniel’s face was a mask of confusion and guilt, a rarity for someone usually so composed. “I didn’t… I mean, this isn’t what it looks like,” he stammered. But it was exactly what it looked like.

Cynthia’s eyes filled with something that resembled fear. “Llaya, I didn’t know…” she started, but I held up a hand to stop her.

“Save it,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “It’s clear now how little I meant to either of you.”

The room was silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock—a gift from Great-Aunt Margaret—that seemed to be counting down the seconds until I would explode. But I didn’t. Anger would have been too easy. Instead, I felt a profound sense of liberation.