She laughed at her own joke. Clara’s knife slipped, slicing into the cutting board with a hollow crack. Mystery family. The words turned in her gut like glass. She forced a chuckle, hiding her trembling hand as she brushed the onion skins into the trash.
All through dinner, Emily’s chatter spilled over—plans for college, curiosity about what her “real mom” might look like, whether she had her father’s smile. Clara nodded and smiled where she could, but her mind spun elsewhere. The day after is when she would be face-to-face with those parents. What if they were charming?