with the


    Mirabe slid back into her seat subtle grace of a cat reiming its favorite sunny


    spot.


    Just as Delh was about to inquire who her daughter had been speaking with, her gaze lifted to see Emmitt entering the room, prompting her to snap her lips shut. She cast a cautious nce at Mirabe’s expression. The siblings were wrapped in a thick fog of


    misunderstanding.


    Clearing her throat, Delh set aside her fork. “Emmitt, you’re back? Have you had dinner?”


    As she spoke, Zach and Leo, both hunched over their tes, along with Shawn, turned to look at Emmitt. Their faces mirrored Delh’s reaction, an uncanny mixture of concern and curiosity. Then, almost reflexively, their gazes shifted to Mirabe as if to ensure she was alright.


    Emmitt felt a sting at the sight, the bitterness in his throat intensifying. After a moment, he nodded to Delh. “Yeah, I’ve eaten.”


    The air turned awkward, thick with the unspoken. Delh, for once, found herself at a loss for words. It was Zach who broke the silence, “Emmitt, you’re homete. Got something on your mind?”


    “Mmm,” Emmitt hummed, striving for a tone of nonchnce. “I saw online that Leo got hurt. Is that true?”


    Leo’s hand trembled, nearly dropping his fork.


    Delh, unaware of any such incident, chuckled, “Oh, no. Your brother is fine. Look at him.”


    Emmitt’s gaze shifted to Leo, and seeing that he bore no resemnce to the rumors online, he rxed, “Good, that’s good.”


    Leo coughed, lifting his head to add, “The inte is full of wild tales. Don’t believe it. It’ll blow


    over soon.”


    “Right,” Emmitt replied, dropping the subject.


    Conversations dwindled, and once again, the dining room fell into silence. Emmitt stood still, suddenly feeling like an outsider. He took a deep breath and forced a smile. “You guys enjoy your meal.”


    With that, he moved toward the living room, his eyes fleetingly catching the gleam of trophies in a ss cab, his expression distant as he noticed two certificates hanging on the wall. He approached them–one for first ce at the nationalpetition, the other for first ce in a French contest.


    At that moment, Shawn finished his meal, and approached Emmitt, who was lost in thought, staring at the certificates. Remembering he had recorded a video of Mirabe’spetition that day. Shawn pulled out his phone. He unlocked it, opened the few minutes–longpetition


    video, and tapped Emmitt’s arm. “Take a look at this.”


    He wanted Emmitt to see his little sister’s excellence in person and dispel misunderstandings through her undeniable talent.


    Emmitt’s eyes lowered to the phone screen. There was Mirabe, standing at the podium in the video, her face alight with confidence, her French crisp and clear,manding the stage with an aura that made it impossible not to recognize her brilliance.


    For a moment, Emmitt was transfixed. He remembered a time when he had scoffed at Mirabe for reading a French book, using her of being pretentious. But what was the reality? The video seemed to mock him, highlighting his ignorance.


    He looked away before the video ended.


    Shawn simply patted his son’s shoulder, saying nothing more. Some lessons had to be learned


    on one’s own.


    The next day, as soon as the school bell signaled freedom, Mirabe’s phone began to buzz insistently. She pulled it out of her pocket, calm and unhurried.