Page 125 of Sacrifice
She's not wrong.
Sunday dinners have a way of expanding.
Last month, Rio and Dasha dropped in with the girls.
The month before, half the prospects ended up at our table after helping Emil with some project.
Mom takes over part of the kitchen despite my protests.
Dad and Emil disappear to look at something motorcycle-related in the garage.
Soren rough-houses with the dogs while updating Elfe on college drama.
"So there's this guy in my statistics class," he's saying. "Thinks he knows everything because his dad's some hedge fund manager..."
"Please tell me you destroyed him academically," Elfe says.
"Obviously. But subtly. Had to make him think it was his idea to be wrong."
I listen with half an ear while checking the roast.
"Saga, honey, where's your baster?" Mom asks.
"Second drawer on the left." I hip-check her gently. "You know you don't have to help. You're a guest."
"Nonsense. Besides, I wanted to talk to you." She lowers her voice. "How are things? Really?"
I know what she's asking. Are you safe? Are you happy? Is this life what you want?
"Really good," I tell her honestly. "I know it's not conventional, the three of us here, the... situation. But it works. Honestly, Elfe is like the sister I never had."
"Elfe, she seems better."
I glance over where Elfe's demonstrating some self-defense move on Soren, both of them laughing.
"She is. Still has nightmares sometimes, but less often. The dogs help. And having purpose—her art, the training we do together. She's finding herself again."
"Good." Mom squeezes my hand. "I worry about all of you. But I see how Emil looks at you, how he's included Elfe without question. That boy loves you both."
"We love him too," I say simply.
Dad and Emil return, discussing something about cam shafts that goes over my head.
But I catch the way Dad claps Emil's shoulder, the approval there.
They've moved past the initial wariness to genuine respect.
"Dinner's ready," I announce.
We gather around the extended dining table, dogs settling underneath despite their best efforts to look pitiful.
The spread is ridiculous—enough food for twice our number.
But that's Mom's way, always prepared to feed extras.
"This looks amazing," Soren says, already loading his plate. "Real food. You have no idea what I've been living on."
"Ramen and energy drinks?" Elfe guesses.
