The rooftop terrace now feels like a stage set for confrontation, every shadow a reminder of that night.
The same table, the same chairs, all witnesses to the unspoken tensions that have only grown since.
As the wedding rehearsal approaches, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched, every move scrutinized.
My husband says little, his silence a barrier between us, his loyalties unclear.
At work, I try to focus, but my thoughts drift to the upcoming event, the potential for another outburst.
The thought of facing her again makes my stomach churn, a nauseating mix of fear and anger.
I replay that night in my mind, the way she moved, the grip on my arm.
How close I came to falling.
Each time, my resolve hardens, a determination to not let her control me with fear.
But the reality is, her influence is pervasive, her power in this family undeniable.
