A quiet strain began to vibrate between our two houses, like a wire pulled too tight.

We were celebrating my birthday in a warm, intimate café.

I’m 25. Six months ago, my mother died in a car accident and left behind my 10-year-old twin sisters, Lily and Maya.

Il ne prononça pas ces mots avec colère ni irritation — au contraire, sa voix resta calme et assurée.

What I saw through that narrow crack in the door wasn’t romantic or indecent. In a way, it was far more unsettling.
A quiet strain began to vibrate between our two houses, like a wire pulled too tight.
We were celebrating my birthday in a warm, intimate café.