Olivia Hart rang their doorbell at 7:15 on a Wednesday evening, during dinner, holding a casserole dish and wearing an expression of innocent concern so practiced it should have had its own Tony award.Sophia answered the door because she was closest to the hallway and because some part of her — the part that had been paying attention for ten years already knew before she reached the handle. The pale blue dress was different tonight. Darker, more subdued, the deliberate choice of a woman who had recalibrated her wardrobe from fragile to something closer to remorseful. The casserole dish was ceramic, homemade by the look of it, still warm.The expression was identical to every expression that had come before it."I'm so sorry to drop in," Olivia said. "I've been thinking about Ethan constantly. I just wanted to bring something. I didn't want to intrude, I only thought..."Behind Sophia, in the hallway, she heard Adrian's footsteps stop.She did not turn around. She kept her eyes on Ol
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