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Dinner is served in near silence, the clink of silverware against china filling the space where conversation ought to be.

I risk a glance at Rez and give him a very slow blink.

He looks pissed, and also looks amused, which is somehow worse. The tightness in his jaw suggests he's holding back a comment, while the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth tells me he understands exactly how absurd this evening has become.

I look away before I give myself away, too.

Leah sets down her silverware and turns her attention to my parents.

"There's something I think we ought to clear up," she says, her voice pleasant enough to make the words that follow all the more pointed. "When I returned from New York, we had a conversation about Anna. About Lenzin, Hildy, and their children. I made it quite clear that they were to be treated with respect."

My mother's expression holds, but something in it tightens.

"Of course, Leah. I don't believe anyone suggested otherwise."

"Didn't they?" Leah asks mildly. "Because I distinctly remember having to explain that those children deserve the same courtesy as anyone else's, and that Anna deserves the freedom to fall in love with whomever she chooses."

My father's gaze drops to his plate.

"I didn't expect to have to repeat myself," Leah continues. "Anna is not a child to be directed toward whichever match best suits this family's expectations. She is allowed to make her own decisions. She's allowed to love someone without having to defend that choice at her own dinner table."

My mother sets down her glass with care. "We only want what's best for her."

"And I have no doubt you believe that." Leah's smile is courteous, her tone unwavering. "But wanting what's best for Anna and deciding her future for her are two very different things."

I keep my eyes on my plate, though not smiling is becoming increasingly difficult.

Rez shifts beside Leah. I catch the movement out of the corner of my eye, but I don't dare look at him directly. I can imagine his expression well enough.

Leah picks up her wineglass again. "I would have thought we settled this when I returned from New York. Anna gets to choose her own future, and I expect that choice to be respected."

My mother sets her glass down.

"With all due respect, Leah, this is not your business." The table goes quiet. "This is our family, our estate, and our responsibility to ensure that both remain in capable hands." Her gaze flicks toward me. "If Anna chooses not to do what's best for this family, then perhaps she isn't suited to the responsibility of sustaining the estate and the legacy that comes with it. If that's the case, we'll have no choice but to reconsider her place in our future."

I stop moving my fork. There it is. Not a suggestion. Not a warning disguised as concern. A threat.

I think I hear Rez growl, and he looks up, into very angry eyes.

Leah pats his hand, doesn't so much as blink as she continues. "Then I suggest you think very carefully before making that decision."

My mother lifts her chin. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm not sure what part of our previous conversation was unclear, so allow me to be explicit." Leah places her glass on the table. "I am the executor not only of the will, but of Anna's trust. Your mother trusted me with that. I know precisely what Anna is entitled to, and I can assure you that she will be financially secure regardless of whether she meets your expectations for her future."

My mother's expression falters.

"Anna will have the means to establish a life of her own," Leah continues. "She will not need to marry to secure her financial position, nor will she need to submit to anyone else's demands to preserve her future. So, if you intend to threaten her with disinheritance to force her into a life she doesn't want, I would reconsider. It would be a dreadful mistake."

My father shifts in his chair. "Leah, surely there's no need to make this adversarial."

"Then don't make it adversarial." Her tone remains composed. "I'm not here to dictate whom Anna should love. I'm here because she deserves the freedom to make that decision without being threatened with the loss of her future."

I keep my eyes fixed on the table. My heart is beating harder than I'd like, and I can't decide whether I want to laugh or cry.

My mother has spent my entire life making the boundaries of my world seem immovable. The estate. The family name. My obligations. Everything I've been told I stand to lose if I disappoint her.

I remove my napkin from my lap, stand, and say what I have wanted to for years. “You are such a cunt, mother.”