Page 217 of Tessa and Nash

He turns.

She stands at the far end near the kitchen door, one hand resting lightly on the frame, spine straight despite the late hour. She is not a large woman. She has never needed to be. The force of her presence fills every inch of the space between us.

Her expression is calm.

That is how you know she is furious.

“Not another word,” she says.

Thomas stares at her. “Mother, stay out of this.”

“No.”

“She’s tearing this family apart.”

Grandma’s gaze shifts to me briefly, then back to him. “No. She’s refusing to let you do it any longer.”

I can’t breathe.

Thomas lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Of course. Of course you’d take her side.”

“She is not a side.”

His face twists. “You’re both being ridiculous.”

“Possibly,” Grandma says. “But only one person in this house is mistaking fury for authority.”

I can feel my heartbeat in my throat.

Thomas looks between us, sees that neither of us is going to bend, and a finality seems to settle over his features.

“If you walk out on this family for him,” he says to me, “don’t expect to walk back in when it falls apart.”

I look at him for a long moment. “I’m not walking out on this family. I’m walking away from you trying to control it.”

This is over.

Not the family or my relationship with Grandma.

This version of my life.

This house, where every choice has had to pass through someone else’s approval.

This careful existence built around duty and silence and not making things worse.

I inhale slowly.

Then I turn, pick up my bag from the hall table, and head for the stairs.

“Tessa,” Thomas says sharply.

I pause on the first step and look back.

He is glaring at me like he can still command the outcome if he stares hard enough.

“You leave tonight,” he says, “and don’t expect me to help clean up the mess.”

I hold his gaze. “Oh, I don’t expect it.”