The chandelier reflected too brightly in every wineglass.
The dining room looked peaceful, but Sophia knew that family pressure often wore the face of an ordinary dinner.
She was thirty-one years old.
For most of her life, she had been the dependable daughter.
The one who solved problems.
The one who gave up things without complaining.
Her father sat at the head of the table as though the chair gave him permanent authority over everyone around him.
Her mother wore the soft smile she always used when a decision had already been made and Sophia’s agreement was considered unnecessary.
Natalie, Sophia’s younger sister, sat beside her wineglass, looking distracted.
