"Are you finished yet? Bring more food!"
Laura flinched. She turned off the tap, wiped her hands on her trousers and replied quietly:
"Yes."
That's when I understood. It wasn't just tiredness. It was pressure. Control. That silent kind of pressure that wears you down day after day.
Margaret finally noticed me. She smiled politely, but lacked warmth.
"Oh, we weren't expecting you today," she said, remaining seated.
I didn't say anything.
Laura returned to the sink with a slightly bent back and cautious movements—as if she were afraid of doing something wrong. She didn't complain. And that silence worried me the most.
I took out my phone, pretended to read messages, and stepped aside. I called Javier, an old family friend who now worked as a lawyer and often helped families through emotional and family crises.
"I need you here," I said quietly. "To take you home to my daughter."
Nothing changed in the room. Daniel sat down again. Margaret continued eating. Laura continued washing dishes.
A few minutes later, someone knocked on the door.
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