The kitchen was filled with the warm, familiar aroma of tomato sauce and roasting herbs. We were all gathered around the old wooden table, the dim light of the Christmas tree flickering softly against the walls.
Despite the coziness, something felt slightly off.
I sat next to Aunt Margaret, who was stirring the sauce absentmindedly.
We exchanged a few words, small talk, until she leaned slightly forward.
Her voice was low, almost hesitant.
“I bought you an apartment for $400.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and strange, like a sudden chill in a warm room.
I glanced around the table, expecting some reaction.
But there was none.
The chatter continued, and Aunt Margaret quickly changed the subject.
