Chapter 77 A Storm is Coming
For Margaret Sinclair, Ethan's birthday was not a celebration, it was a reminder. Each year, the date marked not only her son's age, but the years she had lost to silence and distance. Most of his birthdays growing up had passed without her, Max made sure she was kept far from the boy's life.
She remembered the first time she was finally allowed to attend, Ethan's twenty-eighth birthday, By then, he had already withdrawn from her completely, his eyes polite but cold, his manner as distant as if she were a stranger. Max had handed her an invitation almost as though it were charity, a token gesture to remind her of her place. And even then, she had not come as a mother. She had come as a guest.
Now, seated in her sitting room with the latest invitation trembling in her hand, Margaret stared at the elegant print, her heart heavy with a familiar ache.
Across from her, Sophie watched quietly. She could sense the sadness in her mother, though she couldn't understand its depth. To Sophie, birthdays were occasions of joy. To Margaret, they were milestones carved in regret.
Sophie couldn't understand it. Her mother had always been warm, tender, full of patience, she had raised her with a steady love that never wavered. Yet when it came to Ethan, there was nothing but distance. It made no sense. How could the same woman who had given her so much affection be so absent from her own son's life?
A part of her sensed it wasn't Margaret's choice. The feeling had lingered for years, an instinct Sophie couldn't quite put into words. She remembered a moment from her childhood, dim but still sharp enough to haunt her. Sir Levi, her grandfather's younger brother, had come to the house one evening. His voice had been low, dangerous, and though Sophie hadn't caught the entire conversation, she remembered the words clearly enough: Ethan ... and stay away.
At the time, she hadn't understood. Now, sitting across from her mother as Margaret stared silently at the invitation in her hand, Sophie felt the old memory resurface with new weight.
She studied her mother closely, as though staring hard enough would force the truth to spill out. But Margaret's expression was a mask, poised, measured, only the faintest tightness at the corners of her eyes betraying the storm beneath.
The room had grown unusually quiet, Sophie's eyes lingering on her mother as questions pressed at the edge of her mind. Just then, the door opened and Margaret's younger sisters came in, their presence shifting the mood at once. They carried a kind of easy brightness with them, laughing at something between themselves as they entered.
Noticing the stillness, they exchanged quick glances, then began chatting in their usual way, teasing each other, nudging Sophie with playful remarks, tossing in light jokes as if to lift whatever had settled in the air.
Margaret eased up a little, sensing her sisters' unease. She set the invitation aside and gave them a faint smile.
"It's been far too long," she said, her tone softer now. "I was beginning to wonder if the both of you had forgotten I exist."
Her younger sister, Clara, laughed as she settled into a chair. "Forgotten you? Hardly. You're the one who hides away in your big house.
Their other sister, Helen, leaned forward, teasing. "Well, if we'd known you were this difficult to catch, we would've brought a basket of bribes."
Margaret chuckled quietly, shaking her head. "I should be offended that you think I can be bribed... but I admit, it's tempting."
The room softened with laughter, the earlier tension dissolving into the warmth of familiar voices. Sophie still studied her mother, though, noting how carefully she slipped into the lightness, as though she welcomed the ease, even if her thoughts lingered elsewhere.
Just then, Clara's eyes fell on the invitation Margaret had set aside. She reached for it without much thought, scanning the elegant print.
"Why his house?" Clara asked curiously. "They've never held his birthday in a private residence before."
Sophie stiffened. A wave of alarm rose in her chest, oh no. She wanted to snatch the invitation back, to stop Clara before her words cut too close. This was Ethan they were talking about, and if there was one thing Sophie knew, it was that only Ethan himself ever gave answers about Ethan.
But to her surprise, Margaret didn't flinch. She smiled faintly, folding her hands in her lap as though she'd expected the question all along.
"He's a grown man now," she said gently. "This is the first birthday he's organized himself. I suppose he wanted something more intimate."
Clara tilted her head, mulling it over. "That makes sense. Max was always the one pulling the strings... of course Ethan would want to do things differently."
The explanation seemed to settle everyone, though Sophie caught the quiet heaviness beneath her mother's smile.
Clara seemed content with the answer, but Sophie wasn't willing to let the conversation linger there. She leaned forward quickly, her voice a little brighter than before.
"Speaking of intimate settings," she said, "did either of you see Aunt May's garden party pictures last week? She's turned that backyard into something straight out of a magazine."
Helen perked up at once. "Oh, I saw those! Honestly, I don't know how she keeps her roses so perfect. Mine look like they've been through a storm."
Clara laughed. "That's because you never water them."
"I do water them," Helen shot back, "they just... don't appreciate me."
Margaret chuckled softly at their exchange, the tension slipping further away. Sophie stole a glance at her mother, relieved to see the faintest trace of ease in her face again. She had managed to shift the mood, and for now, that was enough.
Clara, still smiling, leaned back against the settee. "Well, if roses can be this temperamental, I can only imagine what it's like managing people. Especially in that boy's household."
Helen tilted her head. "You mean Ethan's?"
"Of course." Clara's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "I was only thinking... imagine being the woman married to him. I've heard so many whispers about her lately. Young, isn't she? What's her name again, Lena?"
Helen let out a soft laugh. "Yes, that's her. Pretty girl, too. Though some say she's a little... quiet for his world. Haven't you met her yet, Margaret?"
Margaret's hand stilled on the teacup for a fraction of a second before she lifted it gracefully, as though she hadn't noticed the weight of their stares.
"I've seen her," she said evenly. "She's... gentle. And there's a sincerity about her that doesn't often survive in our world."
Clara's brows arched. "That's a careful way of putting it."
Helen laughed softly. "Careful, yes, but it almost sounds like approval, Margaret. And you're not usually so generous with your words when it comes to Ethan's choices."
For a brief moment, something flickered in Margaret's eyes, pride, or maybe longing, but just as quickly it was gone, replaced with her usual calm smile. "It isn't for me to approve or disapprove. Ethan will live as he sees fit. But I will say this... there's a quiet strength in her, one I hope he won't take for granted."
Sophie blinked at her mother, startled. It was the closest she had ever heard Margaret come to admitting she thought about Ethan's happiness at all.