The grand dining hall of the Lancaster estate glimmered under the golden chandeliers, casting warm light over the polished wooden table. The aroma of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filled the air, yet the atmosphere was surprisingly quiet. Isabella Lancaster sat in her seat, glancing around at her family with a mixture of anticipation and unease.
Her brother, Mattheo, looked different. He no longer resembled the boy she remembered—calm, quiet, and strangely mature for his age.
"Isabella," her mother, Amory, broke the silence, "we are so glad to be back together with you. How have you been?"
Isabella smiled, trying to conceal the fluttering excitement in her chest. "I've been well, Mother. I… missed you all so much."
Her father, Liam, nodded briefly. "We missed you too, Isabella. It feels strange not having your presence these past few years."
Mattheo remained silent. He picked up his knife and fork, cutting into a piece of roasted chicken, his gaze fixed on his plate. Isabella frowned slightly. He hadn't acted so distant during family dinners before.
"Brother," Isabella whispered softly, leaning closer, "aren't you hungry?"
Mattheo looked at her, a faint smile touching his lips. "I am," he replied briefly, his voice low but steady.
Isabella nodded, though a creeping unease gnawed at her. There was something different about him—something she couldn't explain.
The servants moved quietly around the room, refilling water glasses and placing bowls of vegetables on the table.
Conversation flowed in short, polite fragments. Isabella tried to participate, asking about her parents' journey, the new garden renovations, and their health.
Yet Mattheo remained mostly silent, nodding or offering brief responses. Isabella glanced at her mother, who seemed unfazed by Mattheo's unusual behavior.
Then it happened.
Mattheo reached for a plate of peanut butter bread and began eating. Isabella's heart stopped. "Brother!" she exclaimed, a mix of shock and panic. "You… you can't! Don't you remember?"
He paused, looking at her with mild confusion. "Remember what?" he asked calmly.
Her hand trembled slightly. "The peanuts! You're allergic!" she whispered urgently, stepping closer. "You could—"
He raised an eyebrow as if questioning her concern. "I understand," he said, then continued eating as if nothing were amiss.
Isabella watched in disbelief. No sneezing, coughing, or reaction whatsoever.
Her father's gaze shifted to Mattheo, noticing Isabella's unease. "Are you alright, son?" Liam asked gently.
"I'm fine, Father," Mattheo replied. His composure unsettled Isabella even more.
She bit her lip, trying to calm her racing thoughts. Perhaps he had forgotten… or maybe he was no longer allergic. She forced herself to sit back down, though curiosity and anxiety tugged at her mind relentlessly.
The dinner continued quietly, uneventful, until dessert was served. Chocolate tarts and sweet custards filled the delicate porcelain plates. Isabella attempted a soft laugh at her mother's joke, but it felt hollow, a forced effort to suppress her curiosity and worry.
Mattheo's eyes met hers briefly, a glimmer of something she couldn't interpret.
Mischief? Or something else? A shiver ran down Isabella's spine.
After the dessert plates were cleared, her mother spoke again. "It feels like the past," Amory said softly, "but also… different."
Isabella nodded. "Yes, Mother. Everything feels… changed."
Her father chuckled lightly, trying to ease the tension. "Change is inevitable, my daughter. We all grow, and sometimes we become strangers to ourselves before others do."
Mattheo remained silent, his hands resting calmly on the table. Isabella couldn't resist studying him, watching his every move and expression.
Finally, dinner concluded. The servants cleared the plates, and the family rose from their seats. Isabella stood near Mattheo, her mind full of curiosity and concern.
"Brother," she whispered once more, "what happened with the peanuts?"
He looked at her, his eyes calm and unreadable. "Perhaps I am no longer allergic," he said softly, yet there was an odd weight behind his words.
Isabella parted her lips to respond, but no words came. She realized that perhaps it was natural for them to feel awkward after such a long separation. Despite his changed behavior, he was still her brother, she reminded herself.
As they moved toward the sitting room, the silence lingered—gentle yet heavy, like the calm before a storm. Isabella could only follow, trying to understand the young man who was once a mischievous, cheerful boy and was now almost a stranger in ways she did not yet fully comprehend.