Chapter 12 - The Seat at the Head of the Table
The following Sunday afternoon, the autumn sun shone brightly through the tall windows of the family dining room as I walked through the front door, carrying a bottle of vintage wine that Stellan had requested.
Aurelia and her fiancé were already seated near the center of the table, their expressions a careful mix of cautious respect and subdued curiosity. Maribel stood near the head of the table, wearing a softer, more genuine smile than the one she had worn two weeks ago when she tried to reduce twenty years of my life to a punchline.
"Rowan," Maribel said warmly, walking over to take my coat and hanging it neatly in the front hallway. "I'm so glad you decided to come."
"Thank you, Aunt Maribel," I replied, stepping into the dining room.
As I walked toward the table, I noticed the seating arrangements had been entirely reorganized. The chair at the very head of the table—the one Maribel had occupied for decades as the matriarch of the family—was empty. Beside it, Stellan stood waiting, gesturing to the seat with a proud, respectful grin.
"Sit down, Aunt Rowan," Stellan said, pulling the chair out for me.
May you like
I looked at the polished wooden seat at the head of the table, feeling the quiet weight of twenty years of invisible service settling comfortably onto my shoulders. I sat down, unfolding my napkin with smooth, deliberate precision.
The room was filled with the warm murmur of polite conversation, free of condescension, cruelty, or hidden malice. For the first time in my life, I didn't need to explain who I was or what I had done to earn my place in the room.
