Margaret POV

I stared at my daughter like I was seeing her for the first time.

Lisa stood before me, calm despite the storm she had just unleashed, her posture straight, her eyes sharp with a resolve that did not come from impulse but from instinct. Pride—pure, unfiltered pride—swelled in my chest, cutting through the fear clawing at my ribs.

“You did well,” I said slowly, deliberately. “Very well.”

Her jaw tightened. “I didn’t do it for praise, Mother.”

“I know,” I ...