#Chapter 92: Birthright

Rowena

Eric and I sat beside each other at the table. Our mother and father sat across from us; our father leaned on his elbows, pinching the bridge of his nose, and our mother pensively stirred her coffee with a spoon.

Everything was silent save for the clinking of the spoon against the mug. It had been quiet like this for some time; none of us even knew where to begin or what to say.

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