Barbara stood in the center of the living room, her posture stiff, her shoulders squared as though she were bracing herself against an invisible storm. The chandelier above cast a warm glow, but it did nothing to soften the tension that filled the space. Her face was pale, drawn tight with resolve, and though she refused to show it, the weight of what she had just revealed pressed heavily on her chest.Around her, the Sullivan family members murmured among themselves. The sound grew louder with every passing second—voices overlapping in disbelief, irritation, mockery, and denial. Some laughed under their breath, convinced Barbara was exaggerating or misled. Others shook their heads sharply, refusing to accept the implications of her words. A few whispered to one another, their confidence wavering as uncertainty crept in.“I am serious,” Barbara said sharply, her voice slicing through the noise like a blade through cloth. She did not raise her voice, yet it carried authority. “I am not