The sun had already set, and dinner had been prepared.
The aroma filled the dining room as a silver-haired woman carefully cut the meat into small, manageable pieces for the man beside her.
The man was none other than the head of the Wright household. Now confined to a wheelchair, his hand trembled slightly as he lifted the food to his mouth.
At the far end of the table sat a woman with dark red hair. She would have been called the most beautiful woman in the room—if only her face carried even a hint of warmth. Her full lips curved downward, and her half-lidded eyes gave nothing away.
As she ate, her gaze drifted to her father. A faint smile rested on his face, simply because he was having dinner with his eldest daughter for the first time in a long while.
Arabella lowered her eyes.
She felt no sympathy for the man who had begun thinking of his children only when he found himself close to death. And the woman sitting beside him was worse.
