Trial And Error

Chapter Sixty-Six

Madison's POV

The sharp sound of someone clearing their throat shattered their moment of domestic bliss. Madison felt the atmosphere shift instantly, as if all the warmth had been sucked from the room. Beside her, Kian's shoulders went rigid, her spine straightening as she turned toward the kitchen doorway. Following her gaze, Madison's eyes landed on Mr. Shepard.

Time had not been kind to him. The man who once commanded respect through sheer presence now seemed diminished, his frame stooped and his hair more silver than she remembered. Deep lines etched his face, and despite retirement, exhaustion clung to him like a shadow. Where he might have once stood eye-to-eye with his daughter, he now fell several inches short—a physical manifestation of how the years had worn him down.

"Father." Kian's voice carried all the warmth of winter steel.

"Kian, it's good to see you." His response was measured, polite. "Madison, you as well."

Madison stepped forward, extending her hand with a practiced smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Mr. Shepard."

His handshake was brief, his calloused palm rough against hers—evidence of the garden work that now filled his days. The contact felt obligatory rather than welcoming.

"When did you two get in?"

"An hour or two ago, honey," Diana interjected from across the kitchen, her voice deliberately bright as she continued unpacking groceries.

Mr. Shepard offered only a grunt of acknowledgment, nodding curtly at both women before retreating from the kitchen as quickly as he'd entered. In his wake, the tension lingered like smoke.

Madison's gaze found Kian, who had already turned back to the cutting board, her movements sharp and mechanical. Even without seeing her face, Madison could read the disappointment in the set of her shoulders, the way her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Kian had perfected the art of hiding her pain, but Madison had learned to see through the armor.

The rest of the cooking passed in a careful dance of avoidance. While Madison and Diana filled the silence with easy conversation, Kian retreated into herself, standing slightly apart from their warmth. Madison made sure to brush against her periodically—a gentle touch to her arm, a shoulder bumping hers—small gestures that said I'm here without drawing attention to Kian's struggle.

When they finally gathered around the dinner table, the dynamic remained unchanged. Kian and Mr. Shepard sat in their respective silences while Madison found herself genuinely enjoying Diana's company. The older woman possessed the rare gift of making conversation feel effortless, her questions thoughtful, her interest genuine. In another life, Madison could easily imagine spending hours talking with her.

"How has your recovery been, Kian?" Mr. Shepard's voice cut through their conversation like a blade. "Last time your mother visited, she mentioned she was worried about you."

Kian's fork paused over her plate, her eyes remaining downcast. "I'm fine."

"That's good. I'm glad." The words held all the emotion of reading a weather report.

"I'm sure you are." The sarcasm in Kian's response was subtle but unmistakable.

Madison's hand found Kian's thigh under the table, fingers pressing gently in silent support. She watched Mr. Shepard's face for any reaction to his daughter's barb, but found only that same neutral expression—perhaps the cruelest response of all.

Their eyes met, and in that moment, Madison could read Kian's thoughts as clearly as words. Maybe it's time. After a heartbeat of silent communication, Kian's resolve crumbled. She cleared her throat and set down her fork with deliberate care, her hands folding in her lap like a soldier preparing for battle.