The dining room fell into a hush so thick, even the quiet hum of the chandelier above seemed loud. No one moved. No one spoke. All eyes were on Daisy.
She blinked hard, willing herself to stay calm as her mind scrambled for the right words. "My father… he's… sick. Stroke." Her voice didn't tremble, but it thinned. "He's currently staying at a therapy centre for treatment and recovery…"
A pause then followed by a gulp.
"And my mother… I just… don't have one."
There it was. Simple. Brutal. The truth dropped into the room like a weight.
No one responded at first.
Liam, for once, didn't have a joke on hand. Evelyn's glass sat untouched. Thomas leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers slowly in thought.
Daisy remained standing, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her clothes. She hated how exposed she felt. How pitiful was another uninvited guest at the table.
But what else could she say?
