Leander is already at the table. An almost identical hoodie, different colour, sunglasses somehow even larger than mine, and his head is resting directly on the table with the resigned quality of someone who has accepted his circumstances and stopped fighting them.Our parents are seated. Our father has coffee. Our mother, Elara, has tea and the expression of someone who had a full night's sleep and finds the sight of her two children deeply amusing in a way she is making a gentle effort to conceal."Neither of you," our father says, "listened to a single word I said about pacing yourselves.""Food," Leander says, without lifting his head. "Please just start the food.""Leander told Mrs V to wake me up," I say, settling into my chair and reaching for the water. "I want that formally acknowledged."Leander lifts his head. One eye opens. "I didn't have a choice.""You had options.""She was the only viable option and you know it.""That," I say, turning to face both parents with the gra
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