“I asked Brandon,” Vivien cut me off sharply. “The boy needs to learn responsibility.”

Something flickered in her eyes.

Brandon stood reluctantly, but Khloe jumped up instead. “I can do it, Grandma. I’m a big girl.”

My stomach knotted.

“Khloe, honey, let me—”

“Nonsense,” George interrupted. “Let the child help. She needs to learn to be useful.”

Trevor remained silent beside me, already cutting into his prime rib even though we hadn’t said grace yet.

I watched Khloe carefully lift the heavy crystal pitcher from the sideboard. It was too large for her small hands, filled nearly to the brim with ice water. She took slow, deliberate steps toward the table, her little face scrunched in concentration.