I decided to leave work early and drive up to the cottage. The two-hour trip felt like a lifetime as I replayed the events of the past weeks in my mind. I tried to concoct various ways to confront them, but nothing seemed right. As the cottage came into view, I pulled over, took a deep breath, and steeled myself for the confrontation.

When I arrived, my mother was in the garden, planting flowers as if she had all the time in the world. My father and Lily were inside, rearranging furniture. I walked up the stone path, my footsteps crunching loudly against the gravel. My mother looked up, seemingly unfazed by my appearance. “Oh, Tessa, you’re here,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron.