Our home became a war zone disguised as a family. Meals were tense, conversation sparse, laughter extinct. Nora smiled less; her light dimmed under the heaviness. Yet she still disappeared at regular intervals, slipping into that other world where Graham waited. We remained outside.
One evening, Martin confronted her directly. “Is he your boyfriend?” He spat out the last word like venom. Nora recoiled as though struck. “No,” she whispered fiercely. “Not like that.” His hands slammed the table. “Then tell us what it is!” She shook her head, tears rising. “I can’t. Not yet.”