Olivia's POV
The atmosphere at dinner was suffocating. Usually, our meals were a chaotic symphony of the boys bragging about their training and the twins giggling, but tonight, the long oak table felt miles wide.
I sat between Lennox and the empty space where Louis usually sat—he was still out at a late meeting. Across from me, the twins were picking at their mashed potatoes, their little faces dark with a stubbornness they had definitely inherited from the man sitting at the far end of the table.
Levi had insisted on joining us. He wasn't in the wheelchair, but he looked exhausted, his face gaunt as he sat upright in a high-backed chair. He hadn't touched his food. He just watched the girls, his sea-blue eyes filled with a desperate, quiet hunger to be noticed.
"Pass the salt, Daddy," Lyra said, nudging Lennox's arm.
Lennox didn't move. He looked at Lyra, then at the salt shaker sitting right in front of Levi. "The salt is right there by Levi, Lyra. Ask him."
