Adele made it to the dining table before anyone.
She sat patiently, with her back straight, and her hands resting lightly against the edge of the polished wood as though she had been carved into the chair itself.
The long table stretched before her, pristine and untouched. The morning light filtered through the tall windows, spilling across silverware and empty plates, making everything look softer than it truly was.
Her mind flickered briefly to the folded letters tucked neatly beside her pillow before coming downstairs.
She had moved them there without thinking.
They had been sitting in her room for days now, unopened, untouched, and ignored.
Her father's handwriting stared back at her every time she passed them. She didn't need to read them to know what they held.
Disappointment, expectation, and questions she had no intention of answering.
Her fingers twitched slightly, as though tempted to go back to her room, and reach for them.
