ilarating power. For thirty years, I had swallowed their casual cruelty, their blatant favoritism. I had choked on the injusti

nt, draining effort to win a shred of affection from parents who only had eyes for Clara. Their concern was never for me, only f

c balm over the wound I had just opened. "The move has been stressful for her." He was managing the situation, not defending me. He was smoothing things over,

. But he was looking at his parents, reassuring them, not me. Defeated, I pushed my chair back from the table. "Excuse me," I mumbled, not looking at anyone. I needed to be alon

f. "What was that all about, Eleanor?" he asked, his voice low and laced with a

what I said, not the decades of pain that lay behind it. "I was just speaking the trut

Our reputation." He stood there, cold and unyielding, and in that moment, I remembered all the times he

is time could be different, died. I had learned to live with this coldness before. I could do it again. But this time, I wouldn't let it destroy me. "Fine," I sai

mall comfort. But everything felt strange, overlaid with the knowledge of my past, or future, life. An unexpected interaction broke my r

scanned the room and landed on me. One of the other librarians pointed a trembling finger in my direction. "Eleanor was the last one there," she said. "I saw her." The accusation hung in the air, heavy and immediate. Mr. Hender