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She barely felt the cold touch of the spoon on her hand or the hot steam rising up from her bowl of soup. What she did feel were tears gathering in her eyes, tears that felt as hot as the soup itself. In vain, she blinked them back, keeping her head down. She couldn’t let him see them. Nor could she look at the bright, happy sunflowers in the vase between them. They made her angry, although she could not explain why.
She heard him clear his throat, willing her to look at him. She ignored him, reveling in the thought of his discomfort.
Finally, after a long silence broken only by the rise and fall of muffled voices, she raised her eyes to meet his. “This is your fault,” she accused, bitterness coloring her tones. “You-“
“But this…accident,,” he said, sitting up straighter, “was not part of the plan.”
“That’s not the point,” she retorted, her voice rising. “The point is, it happened. And now, my sister’s dying in there.” Her gaze drifted towards the closed door to their right.
“Toril-“
“And you never even told us. You let us think you were someone you were not. How could you? I trusted you. I cared about you. I…” she stopped short of finishing her sentence. How could she tell him that she had thought she loved him? “I hate you.”
He blinked, and she could see the pain spreading over his face. “Tory, I’m so sorry.” His voice broke. “I never meant to hurt you or Mary.”
“What you intended is not relevant right now,” she said coldly, looking him square in the eye. “What happened is that you caused Mary’s death.”
She could hold back the tears no longer, and burying her face in her arms, she gave into the storm.
