The aroma of roasted chicken and rosemary filled the dining room, but I barely noticed. I sat quietly at my parents’ oak table, picking at the carefully arranged vegetables while Marissa, my daughter-in-law, chattered on about her latest work project. My son, Robert, nodded along, occasionally glancing at me as if I would share her enthusiasm.
My parents, Mildred and George, smiled politely, completely absorbed in the conversation.
“I have something to tell you all,” Marissa began, her tone deceptively casual.
I looked up from my plate, sensing the shift in her voice.
