Chapter 4 - Sunday Breakfast
By Sunday morning, the house smelled like burnt coffee and tension.
Carol had arranged breakfast like a performance. The wooden dining table was set with white plates, folded napkins, and a glass pitcher of orange juice nobody touched. Grant’s aunt Diane and grandmother Ruth sat stiffly near the window. Henry sat at the far end of the table in a light button-up shirt, looking uneasy among people who had never made him feel welcome.
Ava came downstairs slowly.
Her body ached. Her eyes were swollen from a night of crying she had done silently in the bathroom after Grant slept beside her like nothing had happened.
Lila stood near the doorway in a gray cardigan, phone in hand. Her face was pale.
She had seen the photos.
She knew.
Grant noticed Ava looking at Lila and smiled in a way that made Ava’s skin tighten.
“There she is,” he said brightly. “Finally.”
Carol glanced at Henry. “Pregnancy has been very difficult for Ava. We’re all trying to be patient.”
Henry’s eyes moved to his daughter.
“You okay, baby?”
Ava opened her mouth.
Grant touched her lower back.
Not hard.
Not visibly threatening.
But enough.
Ava swallowed. “I’m fine.”
Lila’s grip tightened around her phone.
Carol reached into a folder beside her plate.
“Henry,” she said gently, “we were hoping to discuss a few concerns. Nothing dramatic. Just family protecting family.”
Henry frowned. “What concerns?”
Grant sat down across from him. “Ava’s emotional state. We’re worried about her. About the baby.”
Ava felt the room narrow.
Diane looked down. Ruth stared at her hands. Nobody seemed surprised.
Carol slid a paper across the table.
“We only need your signature confirming what you’ve observed,” she said. “That Ava has been unstable. That she may need supervised support after delivery.”
Henry did not touch the paper.
He looked at Ava.
“What is this?”
Grant answered before she could.
“It’s a precaution.”
Ava’s voice came out small. “Dad, don’t sign that.”
Grant’s smile disappeared.
Carol sighed dramatically. “This is exactly what we mean.”
Henry pushed the paper back. “I asked my daughter.”
For one second, hope moved through Ava’s chest.
Then Grant stood.
His chair scraped hard against the floor.
“You’re not helping her,” he said to Henry. “You’re enabling her.”
Ava took one step backward.
May you like
Grant turned on her.
And in that moment, something in the room shifted from ugly to dangerous.
