The lies we keep

e irony wasn't lost on her. This family, this home, was as fragile as this cup, riddled with invisible cracks threatening to shatter the whole facade. Eleanor hummed a tuneless melody as she meticu

reasons Lena couldn't fathom, was choosing to live in a fantasy. The doorbell chimed, shattering the forced tranquility. Lena felt a surge of adrenaline, mixed with a strange sense of morbid curiosity. Would he bring flowers? Would he offer a weak apology? Would he even acknowledge the elephant in the room, the other woman whose shadow loomed over their home? But it wasn't Robert. A delivery man stood on the porch, holding a large bouquet of lilies. "For Mrs. Eleanor Harding?" he asked, confirming the address. Eleanor's eyes widened. "For me? There must be some mistake." Lena took the bouquet, the heavy scent of lilies filling her nostrils. There was no card. "Maybe they're from Dad," she offered, but the words sounded hollow even to her own ears. Eleanor's smile was strained. "Yes, of course. How thoughtful of him." She took the flowers and hurried to arrange them in a vase, turning her back to Lena. Lena watched her mother, her shoulders slumped slightly, and felt a wave of conflicting emotions: pity, anger, and a desperate urge to protect her. But protect her from what? From