Lydia's Point Of View
The silence after Rita's threat stretched thin across the room. It wasn't ordinary silence. It felt tight. Sharp. Like something stretched too far that might snap if anyone breathed too loudly.
My father stood rigid beside the table, the phone lying between us like something dangerous neither of us dared touch. The screen glowed faintly under the chandelier light, the speaker still active, still carrying the presence of someone miles away who somehow filled the entire room.
I could still hear her voice in my head.
Keep your mouth shut when it comes to my daughter. Or I'll shut it for you.
My jaw tightened slightly.
My father inhaled slowly.
The sound was controlled, deliberate, but I noticed how his fingers pressed harder into the wood of the table. The knuckles along his hand had turned pale from the pressure.
