Sophia’s POV

Mrs. Thorne says a two-minute prayer, and we begin eating.

The table is silent. Suffocatingly silent. Only the sounds of cutlery gently hitting plates can be heard.

But when I raise my eyes briefly, glancing from one Thorne to the other, I seem to be the only one finding it hard to breathe. Everyone is so put-together, seemingly allergic to making a mess or even dropping a crumb.

My throat tightens; it’s hard to swallow.

Slowly, I reach for my glass of juice and take a careful ...