Chapter 3 - The Broken Vase
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Dinner at the Vance mansion was a silent, suffocating affair. Silver cutlery clinked against fine china under the crystal chandelier. Edward sat at the head of the table, flanked by his mother and his wife.
"Edward, darling," Victoria began, breaking the tense silence. "I spoke with the interior designer today. They suggested we remodel the west wing. It’s so outdated."
Florence paused, setting her soup spoon down with a soft click. "The west wing was designed by Edward’s grandfather. It holds historical value."
"Times change, Mother Florence," Victoria retorted, her tone dropping its usual sweetness. "We can't keep living in a museum just because of sentimentality."
"It isn't just sentimentality, Victoria," Edward interrupted gently. "We agreed to keep the house as Father left it."
Victoria’s fork scraped loudly against her plate. "Your father has been dead for five years, Edward! When are we going to start living for our future instead of guarding ghosts?"
"Victoria! That is enough," Edward said firmly, his eyes darkening.
Victoria slammed her napkin onto the table, standing up so abruptly that her elbow caught an heirloom Ming dynasty vase sitting on a marble pedestal behind her chair. The vase crashed onto the parquet floor, shattering into a hundred priceless ceramic pieces.
Florence gasped, clutching her chest, her face turning pale.
"Oh, dear me," Victoria said smoothly, looking down at the wreckage with zero remorse. "How clumsy of me. I guess old things break eventually."
Edward stood up, his face flushed with anger. "Victoria, apologize to my mother right now."
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Victoria looked at her husband, a cold, mocking sneer touching her lips. "I’m going upstairs. Clean up your trash, Edward."
As Victoria strutted up the grand staircase, Edward knelt beside his weeping mother, picking up the porcelain shards. He looked up toward the dark second-floor landing, realizing for the first time that the sweet woman he had married two years ago was rapidly slipping away.
