Emma stood still, her voice calm but firm.
"I've taken everything that belonged to my mother."
She expected something—an outburst, a scream, anything—but there was nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Her father didn't speak. He just stared ahead, his fists clenched at his side, jaw tight. But he couldn't look her in the eyes. Not even for a second.
Violet stood by the door, frozen like a statue, her mouth slightly open but her voice lost. Her mother, usually loud and poisonous, had her eyes locked on the floor, unable to lift her gaze. It was like the air had been drained from the room.
They had all been silenced—not by fear alone, but by the weight of truth, the humiliation of being stripped bare in front of the very person they tried to control.
Emma didn't need their permission. Not anymore.
