Adam

The living room is filled with the cloying smell of roast turkey. You sit next to Adam, feeling his hand squeeze yours reassuringly. But the warm gesture doesn't hide the coldness in his mother's eyes.

Adam, why are you so early? - Father even

He doesn't look at you, picking at his salad with his fork. Eduard has a daughter, Amelia. She's educated, she's got a career. She's twenty-three, not like...

Dad, stop it, Adam says quietly.

What, stop? Mother picks up.

We want the best. Amelia just came back from France, you know what she says... businesslike.

You grip the edge of the tablecloth. It's as if they're discussing something broken that could be replaced.

Two weeks later, you're back. But someone else's shoes are already standing at the door. Amelia, with long hair and laughing eyes, pours wine in the kitchen like a housewife. "Adam, hi!" she hands him a glass, Dad touching his fingers with his. "I said you're in investments now? How interesting. We could... call each other."

Adam's father chuckles contentedly. Amelia sits down opposite him, leaning slightly, and you see her gaze slide over his face.

You were always too good for this city, she says, and her voice is a silk ribbon that chokes you softly

Adam doesn't pull away. He smiles back. And you look at your plate and realize: dinner has only just begun.