Catherine Hawthorne learned the rules of her marriage long before anyone explained them.They were never written. They did not need to be. They lived in the pauses between words, in corrections offered with a smile, in the way approval arrived only after obedience had already been demonstrated.Appearances first. Feelings last.She repeated the phrase silently as she adjusted Henry’s jacket in the mirror.“Stand still,” she said gently.Henry did as he was told, though his shoulders tensed. He watched her reflection rather than his own, eyes searching for reassurance she could not openly give.“Will Lillian be there,” he asked.Catherine’s hands slowed. “Yes. For part of the evening.”“That’s good,” he said. “She listens.”Before Catherine could answer, the door behind them opened.Margaret Hawthorne entered without hurry, her posture immaculate, her expression composed to the point of serenity. She surveyed the room once and smiled as if pleased by what she found.“Henry,” she said.
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