Emily's fingers traced the rim of her coffee cup, her expression softening as she glanced up at me. "I want to see how Kate is doing," she said, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "It's been so long since we last met." She paused, her brow furrowing slightly.
I nodded, leaning back in my chair, my arms crossed. Kate, Tom's wife. I remember meeting her when I was playing Mike. The name Tom sent a flicker of something through me—memory, history, complications—but Emily's face was open, innocent, unaware of the web of connections tangled between us all.
Jennifer and Nathalie exchanged a glance—tense, guilty, silent—before looking away, their breakfast suddenly far more interesting than the conversation.
Emily pushed her chair back, standing. "I'll go get ready, then." She hesitated, her eyes flicking between her mother and aunt—both of whom were avoiding her gaze like their lives depended on it.
