The house woke up wrong.Normally Sundays dragged themselves awake around ten. Mother would emerge in her silk robe demanding coffee, Claire would stay in bed scrolling until noon, Cyrus would stumble downstairs looking like he’d fought gravity all night, and Vane… Vane was always up at six, gym, black coffee, newspapers spread like battle plans. Clockwork.This morning the kitchen lights were already blazing when I came down at seven-thirty.I stopped on the bottom step, hand on the banister, listening.Plates clinking.Coffee machine gurgling.Mother’s laugh—too bright, too early.I walked in.Everyone was there.Mother at the island in yoga pants and cashmere, hair in a messy bun, pouring orange juice like she was hosting brunch for royalty. Claire perched on a stool in a cream cashmere sweater, scrolling her phone but glancing up every few seconds. Cyrus slouched at the table, hoodie up, nursing a mug that smelled like jet fuel. Vane stood by the window, arms crossed, staring out
Huling Na-update : 2026-01-28 Magbasa pa