Darius was watching, too.
Both of them were waiting for the daughter‑in‑law to offer to help—to say, “Don’t sell it. Here is some money. Live in peace.”
Kiana finished her tea and stood up.
“I’m going to change clothes. Long day.”
She left the kitchen, feeling their two gazes on her back, one bewildered and one angry.
In the bedroom, she closed the door and sat on the edge of the bed.
Her hands were slightly trembling, not from fear, but from cold, quiet, grinding rage.
They wanted her money.
It was obvious.
Ms. Sterling hadn’t come for tea.
She had come to scope out the situation, to see if her daughter‑in‑law would succumb to pity.
And Darius was in on it, sitting right there, silent, waiting.
Kiana listened closely.
Voices started up again in the kitchen, quieter now, muffled.
She got up, went to the door, and cracked it open a sliver.
The words reached her in fragments.
“She won’t give,” Ms. Sterling hissed. “She’s greedy.”
“Mom, don’t say that. She’s just cautious,” Darius muttered.
“Cautious.”
She snorted.
“She has a hundred thousand just sitting there, and I’m rotting away on Social Security.”
“Quiet. She’ll hear.”
