Chapter 3 - The Dining Room and the Kitchen Table
The revelations left Damian awake for most of the night, staring at the ceiling of his grand bedroom while Fiona slept soundly beside him, breathing softly with an expression of quiet exhaustion. He resolved to get to the bottom of the mystery the very next day.
The following afternoon, Damian informed his executive assistant that he would be completely offline for the remainder of the day. Instead of going to his downtown office, he returned home early, slipping through the garage entrance with quiet, calculated stealth.
As he approached the wide archway connecting the family kitchen to the formal dining room, he stopped dead in his tracks.
The dining room was a scene of opulent extravagance. Fresh floral arrangements cascaded down the center of an imported mahogany table, crystal wine decanters glistened under the chandelier, and expensive vintage wine had already been uncorked. Brenda sat regally at the head of the table, laughing loudly at a joke told by one of Gertrude’s wealthy socialite friends. Several other high-society guests were scattered around the feast, enjoying themselves immensely.
Then, Fiona appeared in the hallway threshold.
Damian held his breath, watching intently. There was no place setting prepared for her at the magnificent table. Fiona stood silently in the doorway for a long moment, looking at the vibrant gathering, then turning her gaze toward Brenda.
Brenda caught sight of her. For a fraction of a second, their eyes locked. Then, with deliberate cruelty, Brenda simply turned her face away, raising her wine glass to toast a guest as if Fiona were nothing more than a passing shadow.
No one moved. No one offered Fiona a chair. No one asked her to join the celebration.
Fiona’s shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly, a quiet sigh escaping her lips. Without a word of complaint, she turned around and walked back into the kitchen.
Shielded by the shadows of the hallway, Damian remained entirely hidden. He watched his wife—the woman who had sacrificed her family heirlooms to keep them afloat years ago—walk over to the stainless-steel refrigerator and pull out a modest plastic container of yesterday’s leftover casserole.
She heated the food quietly in the microwave, taking care not to make a sound. Then, she pulled out a wooden chair at the small, utilitarian table near the pantry—far away from the glittering banquet—and sat down to eat alone.
Just a thin interior wall separated her from the booming laughter of Damian’s family.
Across the dining room, one of the guests lifted a crystal glass high into the air. "To family! To the wonderful O’Connor legacy!"
The entire table cheered, clinking their glasses together in joyous unison.
Damian felt his jaw muscles lock so tightly they ached. Every protective instinct inside him screameded for him to storm into that dining room, flip the table, and throw his mother and sister out onto the street.
Yet, he forced himself to stay still. He watched Fiona. She kept eating, chewing slowly, silently, her eyes fixed on the wooden grain of the table.
Then, Brenda’s voice drifted clearly through the open kitchen door, sharp and dripping with condescension.
"I’m telling you all, she was never really one of us," Brenda announced loudly enough for everyone—including Fiona—to hear. "She tries to play the lady of the house, but she's just a small-town nobody at heart."
Gertrude let out a harsh, dry laugh. "Well, she certainly doesn't belong in high society," Brenda added with a smirk. "If you’re uncomfortable sitting with us, Fiona, the kitchen is free. No one down here will mistake you for a lady of high society."
Fiona stopped chewing instantly. Her fork rested motionless against her plate. For several agonizing seconds, she didn't move a muscle.
Damian’s hands curled into tight, trembling fists. If he had heard Brenda say those words back then, perhaps everything would have changed. But he hadn't heard them—until now.
May you like
Instead of bursting into tears or rushing out of the room in anger, Fiona reached slowly into the pocket of her cardigan. She pulled out a thick, worn envelope tied with a rubber band.
---
