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Chapter_81
The words stung, but Quinn kept her composure, not allowing the biting insult to land as it once might have. She wasn’t sure whether it was her years of being married to Alexander, or the cumulative weight of all the years of mistreatment and isolation, but she felt herself growing numb to the barbs that once would have broken her.
Joseph’s sobs still echoed in her ears as she quietly stepped back, a sigh escaping her lips. The rain, which had been falling steadily when she first arrived, began to pick up, the drizzle now turning into a steady downpour. It seemed almost symbolic—just as the storm outside seemed to mirror the one inside her heart.
“Let’s go inside,” Freya said, her voice holding no sympathy for Quinn but more irritation at the inconvenience.
Quinn nodded without a word, moving into the living room. She could feel the eyes of everyone on her, the weight of their disapproval pressing in from all sides. She tried not to meet their gazes, instead focusing on the back of Valerie’s head as she ushered Joseph away, still sniffling.
The living room was grand, elegant, everything the Kennedys were known for—polished, pristine, and cold. It felt like walking into a museum of perfect family portraits, none of them featuring her. Her presence here, in this space, felt like a stain—something uninvited, something that didn’t belong.
Wayne sat at the far end of the room, discussing something with Valerie’s husband, his face unreadable, his posture stiff as usual. Kaitlyn stood by the window, eyes narrowing at Quinn as she stepped further inside. The woman’s icy gaze could freeze the air, and it had always made Quinn feel small, insignificant.
“You’re late,” Kaitlyn remarked, her voice like ice water.
“I came as soon as I could,” Quinn replied softly, though she couldn’t help the bitterness that seeped into her words. She had always been the last to know anything, the last to be included in anything that mattered. The walls of the Kennedy household were thick with secrets, and Quinn had never quite been let in.
Her eyes flicked to Alexander, who stood near the fireplace, his back turned to her. He had yet to acknowledge her arrival, and as usual, it felt like he was somewhere far away—somewhere beyond reach, behind those walls he had built up around himself.
Freya, noticing the tension, chimed in lightly, though there was no warmth in her tone. “We were just about to start dinner,” she said, her words edged with a passive-aggressive cheerfulness. “How convenient that you’ve finally graced us with your presence. We’ll be sure to save you a seat.”
The sarcasm was not lost on Quinn, but she didn’t rise to it. She had learned long ago that Freya’s words were just a defense mechanism—a shield to protect her from the discontent she felt beneath the surface. But Quinn had no energy for games today. The quiet ache in her chest, the sense of displacement, was too much to bear.
“I’m fine,” Quinn said quietly, as Kaitlyn eyed her disapprovingly.
“You don’t look fine,” Kaitlyn observed, her voice dripping with disdain. “But I suppose you never really do, do you? You seem to be living in some kind of permanent state of dysfunction. It’s no wonder Alexander can’t stand to look at you sometimes.”
The sharpness of the remark sliced through the tension in the room, making Quinn’s heart skip a beat. She swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. This wasn’t about her—this was about them. About a family that had always treated her like an outsider, a burden to bear, someone to be tolerated, not loved.
She could feel her grip tightening on the umbrella she still held, her knuckles white, as though the last remnants of her strength were drawn from the flimsy thing.
“I’m sorry,” Quinn whispered, not even sure who she was apologizing to—her own self, perhaps. “I’ll go to my room.”
“No need,” Kaitlyn interjected, her tone cutting through the fragile moment of clarity Quinn had reached. “You can stay here, but don’t expect me to pretend we’re one big happy family. I don’t have time for that. And frankly, neither does Alexander.”
The words stung in a way Quinn wasn’t prepared for. It was as though Kaitlyn’s disdain had found the last vulnerable part of her and struck it with precision. Quinn glanced briefly at Alexander, but he didn’t even turn his head. His face was impassive, unreadable, as he took a sip from his glass of wine.
She nodded slowly, the pit in her stomach growing deeper. “I understand,” she said, her voice a mere whisper against the storm that raged both outside and within. And with that, she turned and walked away, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes following her retreating form.
As Quinn left the room and headed to the staircase, she felt the familiar knot of isolation tighten in her chest. She was used to being invisible, to being treated like a ghost in this house—her presence only acknowledged when it was necessary, only to be brushed aside when it wasn’t.
But as she reached the top of the stairs, a flicker of determination sparked within her. She was not just a shadow to be cast aside. She was still here. And she would stay.
The storm might rage around her, but she wasn’t going to let it drown her. Not today.
