Chapter Three: She's back

Penelope's POV 

Five minutes later, Seraphina walked in boldly without a wheelchair or crutches. No sign of anything that had kept her away for two years. 

She stood in the dining room doorway in a cream dress that sat perfectly on her curvy body, her dark hair loose, her skin glowing like she had spent the last twenty-four months at a spa instead of whatever she had always been.

She looked at the table full of shocked faces and smiled. "Did I miss dinner?" 

Margaret was the first to move. She pushed her chair back so fast it scraped against the floor and crossed the room. Her pearl necklace was dangling as she did so. "Seraphina, my darling." 

"Margaret." Seraphina hugged her close enough to feel each other's warmth. 

Gloria pressed a hand to her chest. "Oh my goodness. Oh, look at you." 

Then Jonathan stood up. 

I watched him from my seat. I didn't move. I don't think I can breathe anymore.

He pulled Seraphina into his arms before she had time to turn fully toward him. She went into that embrace without hesitation, her hands gripping the back of his shirt, her face pressing against his chest. 

He held her so tightly as if not doing so would make him lose everything. 

I looked at my plate. The food was still there. Half eaten. The fork I'd been holding was now resting on the tablecloth, and I didn't remember putting it down. 

"You're here," Jonathan said, low, his voice carrying a soft tone in it I had never once heard him use with me. "You're actually here." 

"I told you I'd come back," Seraphina said. 

He pulled back and looked at her face like he was checking something, making sure she was real. Then he pinched himself to be sure he wasn't dreaming. "You should have called." 

"I wanted to surprise you." She laughed softly and touched his arm. "I'm fine, Jonathan. I promise. I'm completely fine." 

I picked up my water glass and took a slow sip. 

Margaret was already calling for Clara to bring more table settings. Gloria was dabbing her eyes with her dinner napkin. The whole room had rearranged itself around Seraphina like it always did. 

And at the table where I had eaten alone a hundred times, feeling the particular humiliation of becoming a background character in my own life. 

Seraphina then turned. Her eyes found mine immediately, like she had known exactly where I was sitting the whole time. 

She smiled...God, that smile. Soft and warm and perfectly placed. Anyone watching would have seen a woman happy to see her sister. Anyone watching would have thought, how wonderful, look how she smiles. 

"Penelope," she said. 

"Seraphina," I answered.

She tilted her head slightly. "You look tired." 

"I'm fine." 

"Are you sure? You look like you haven't been sleeping." 

Two years have gone by without a word. Not a call, not a message from her, not a sign she was alive somewhere on this earth. And her first real sentence to me was about how tired I looked. 

"I'm sure," I said. 

She kept smiling and turned back to Jonathan. 

I helped Mrs. Hale, the housekeeper clear the extra plates while the rest of them moved to the sitting room. The warmth in that room was immediate and loud... the laughter, questions, even Margaret's voice went higher with excitement. 

I washed my hands at the kitchen sink and stood there longer than I needed to. 

Mrs. Hale touched my elbow gently then moved away without saying anything. She knew that saying something would only make my feelings worse. 

I dried my hands and walked back toward the sitting room. I didn't go in but I stood in the hallway, listening to Seraphina explain where she had been, her voice melodious and careful, never quite saying anything specific but making everyone feel like they'd been told everything. She was gifted that way. She could speak for ten minutes and leave no information behind. 

"Penelope." 

I turned. 

Seraphina was standing at the end of the hall with one hand resting on the wall. She must have slipped out while I was listening. 

"Can we talk?" she asked. 

The way she said it didn't sound like a question. It sounded more like an order.

I followed her into the small room off the hallway, the one nobody used, the one with the old loveseat and the window that looked out onto the side garden. 

She closed the door behind us. 

The moment she stood there, the smile she'd worn all evening slowly changed shape and turned to a wry line on her lip. As if she had waited two years to display this act. 

"You're still here," she said. 

"This is my home," I responded.

"Is it?" She tilted her head again. "It was only supposed to be temporary, Penelope. You know that. Jonathan knows that. Everyone at that table knows that." 

My hands were at my sides trying to resist her threat. "You disappeared for two years, Seraphina. Without a word to anyone." 

"I needed time." 

"Time for what?" 

"To heal." She moved to the window and looked out at the dark garden. "To get strong enough to come back and take what's mine." 

I looked at her stature. The delicate nose. The soft jaw. She looked like me, people always said that. We both had our mother's eyes. But Seraphina had always known how to use hers differently. She knows how to use it to get whatever she wants from anyone.

"Jonathan is not yours," I said. "We are married." 

"Only on paper." She turned back to me, her voice perfectly pleasant and calm. "You and I both know you're just holding a place, Penelope. You were always just holding a place. My place." 

She stepped closer, and her voice dropped into a calmer tone. "I have come back for everything. His name, his home, his future." She paused. "Everything you've been pretending that is yours." 

I could feel the weight of her words crushing me. 

She looked at me for a long moment, moved closer to my ears, and whispered. 

"You knew this was never your place." She smirked. "So why are you still here?"