She looked smaller than she had two weeks ago, her aristocratic posture held together by sheer pride.
“The neighbors are talking because of those internet videos,” Robert continued, “and now Julian is sending formal legal letters to her home address.”
Julian adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses by the bridge, his expression flat and unreadable.
“The letters are standard legal notifications regarding the frozen assets, Robert,” Julian said.
“I do not care about legal jargon,” Uncle Robert said, his voice rising as he leaned forward. “I care about this family, and you are tearing it apart over a simple domestic dispute.”
My mother sat perfectly upright, her chin tilted high in the dim light of the parlor.
“David has always been susceptible to outside influences,” Eleanor said, her voice carrying its familiar, sharp cadence.
She did not look at me, addressing her words to the portrait of her father.
“He is letting his emotions override his duty to his own name,” Eleanor said.
