CAMPBELLS VS. THORNTONS

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The morning light seemed dimmer than usual, barely breaking through the thick curtains that hung over the grand dining room. The atmosphere felt heavy, like the weight of last night's dream had followed me out of sleep. I sat at the long dining table, trying to focus on the breakfast spread before me—sliced fruits, freshly baked bread, and a steaming pot of tea—but my appetite was nonexistent. My thoughts were stuck on the dream of Tebetha, her warmth, the sudden shift in her gaze, and the disgust that followed. My mother's voice, sharp and accusing, still echoed in my ears.

Across the table, my parents exchanged quiet glances. Cindy sat beside me, eating her breakfast without much enthusiasm, occasionally casting a concerned look in my direction. She hadn't said much since the dinner with the Thorntons, but I could feel her tension, the unease that came with being back in the thick of family politics.

"Cristine," my mother began, her voice calm but laced with the usual undercurrent of control. "Your father and I have arranged for you to see someone today."

I looked up from my plate, frowning. "Someone? What do you mean?"

"That therapist," she said simply, sipping her tea with an air of finality, as though this was a decision already made without my input.

I felt a surge of frustration rise within me. "Therapist?" I repeated, my voice tinged with disbelief. "Why? Because I heard something while the Thorntons' were here?"

My father cleared his throat, his stern gaze meeting mine across the table. "You've been... unwell," he said carefully. "Your behavior has been erratic, and after your outburst last night—accusing the Thorntons of... absurd things—this is the best course of action."

I felt a pang of embarrassment rise in my chest, and my mind immediately flashed back to the dinner. The hum, the shadows, the way everyone had stared at me as though I were insane. But I wasn't. I knew what I'd heard. I wasn't making it up.

"But I have stuff to do," I said, my mind going back to the book in the library. "I wanted to go to the library —"

"Cristine, please," my mother interrupted, her voice smooth and composed as always. "The library can wait. What you need right now is to speak with someone. This... fixation on shadows and sounds, it's not healthy. We just want what's best for you."

I stared at her, incredulous. "The library can wait? I'm trying to spend my time being productive, and you want me to sit with some stranger and talk about my feelings?"

"This is not up for discussion," my father said, his voice hardening. "You will meet with the therapist this morning. End of story."

I clenched my fists under the table, my heart pounding with frustration. I felt like a child being scolded, like no one was listening to me. How could they dismiss everything I'd been through so easily? Didn't they see what was happening?

But I knew better than to argue. My father's word was final, and my mother's resolve was unbreakable. There was no escaping this.

With a defeated sigh, I pushed my plate away and stood from the table. "Fine," I muttered. "But don't expect this to change anything."

---

The therapist's office was in the east wing of the estate, tucked away in a quiet corner where few ventured. As I approached, escorted by one of the ever-present guards, I felt a sense of dread creeping over me. The thought of pouring my heart out to some stranger, someone who would undoubtedly think I was losing my mind, made my stomach turn. I didn't want to do this. I wanted to be in the library, combing through books and trying to make sense of the strange connection between our families, between me and the Thorntons.