The room fell silent as Dawson hesitated. His hands, once confidently wrapped around a champagne flute, now trembled slightly. The air was thick with curiosity and a touch of dread as the family watched, their amusement from moments ago dissipating like morning mist. Tamson, my sister, looked between Dawson and me, confusion etched on her face.
“What’s this about, Karen?” she demanded, her voice laced with impatience and a hint of fear.
“Just open it,” I reiterated, my voice steady and calm, the storm in my heart masked by an unwavering resolve.
