Hope

The drawing room feels like a cage. I sit on the edge of the sofa, knees pressed together, hands locked tight in my lap, as if I let go, I’ll unravel completely. Keith sits beside me, steady, composed, though I can see the tension in the line of his shoulders. Papa sits across from us, back straight, arms folded, eyes sharp. He looks like a man preparing for battle, not a meeting.

We’ve been waiting too long. Every tick of the grandfather clock behind us makes my nerves snap tighter. My heart has been pounding so hard, I swear they must hear it.

This was our only chance. We...