Chapter 1

My grandfather, Arthur, was a poison. That' s the only word for it. He was a man who sucked the air out of every room he entered and left a trail of broken people in his wake. My whole life, I watched him do it. I watched him belittle my grandmother Eleanor until she wasted away, her heart giving out long before it should have. I watched him tear down my father, Tom, and my aunt, Carol, with his constant, biting criticism. His evil was so profound, so complete, it was almost a force of nature.

The worst part, the part that lived in the back of all our minds, was what happened to Uncle David. My aunt' s husband, a firefighter, a hero. He died pulling Arthur from the lake behind his house after Arthur, drunk and arrogant, fell in. David saved him, but the strain on his heart was too much. He collapsed on the shore and never got up. Arthur never once said thank you. Instead, he used it. He used David' s death as a weapon, a shield, a tool to make everyone else feel guilty and small.

But I was an optimist, or maybe just a fool. I owned a successful bakery, a little place I had built from scratch. I believed in the good in people, and some small, stupid part of me believed that maybe, just maybe, I could find a tiny piece of it in him.

So for his 80th birthday, I tried. I really tried. I baked him a magnificent cake, a three-tiered masterpiece with lemon curd and buttercream, his supposed favorite. I spent a week searching for the perfect gift and found a beautiful, hand-carved wooden cane with an eagle' s head, strong and dignified. I thought it was a thoughtful gift for an old man.

The party was at a fancy restaurant he' d demanded we book. The whole family was there, walking on eggshells as usual. I walked in, carrying the heavy cake box, a bright smile on my face.

"Happy birthday, Grandpa!" I said, setting the cake on the table.

He didn't even look at it. He squinted at me, his eyes two little chips of ice.

"You're late," he snapped.

"The cake took a little extra time to transport safely," I explained gently. "I wanted to make sure it was perfect."

"Perfect?" he sneered, his voice loud enough for the whole table to hear. "You think a cake makes up for disrespect? In my day, children knew their place. They showed up on time."

My mother, Sarah, jumped in. "Dad, she's not late. We're all just a little early. The cake looks beautiful, Ava."

He ignored her. His gaze was fixed on me. "Still running that silly little bake shop? I heard you're selling glorified cupcakes for ten dollars a pop. Robbing people blind. You get that from your mother's side of the family."

My face burned. I tried to keep my voice steady. "My business is doing very well, Grandpa. And my customers are very happy."

"Happy to be ripped off," he muttered. "It's a woman's business. Frivolous. You should have been a nurse or a teacher, something useful. Not playing with flour and sugar."

My father, Tom, clenched his jaw but said nothing. He' d been hearing this kind of talk his whole life. He' d learned that silence was the easiest path, though it ate him alive from the inside.

Aunt Carol tried to change the subject. "Well, let's open some presents! Ava, you brought a gift too, didn't you?"

Eager to move on, I passed him the long, wrapped box. "I hope you like it, Grandpa."

He tore the paper off with a grunt. He pulled out the cane and stared at it. For a second, I thought I saw a flicker of something in his eyes. But it was gone in an instant.

He slammed the cane down on the table, making the water glasses jump.

"What is this?" he roared. "Are you calling me a cripple?"

I was stunned. "No! Of course not! It's... it's a walking stick. It's handsome. I thought..."

"You thought to mock me!" he shouted, his face turning a blotchy red. "You wish I was weak, that I needed this! You're wishing me into the grave, just like your useless uncle!"

The mention of Uncle David sent a shockwave through the table. Aunt Carol flinched as if she' d been slapped.

"That is not what I meant and you know it!" I shot back, my own anger finally boiling over. The hope I' d carried into the room moments before now felt like a toxic poison in my stomach. "It was a gift! A nice gift!"

"You dare talk back to me?" he spat, his eyes wide with fury. "You ungrateful little brat!"