Meredith's POV
The morning sunlight tiptoed through the curtains, gently kissing my face as I awoke with a newfound vigor. A stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere lingering from the disastrous dinner that unfolded the night before. The echoes of disappointment mirrored in the expressions worn by Pamela and my father as they feigned smiles.
Last night's culinary catastrophe had left its mark, etched across their faces like the aftermath of a storm. And yet, as I gingerly pulled the chair, attempting to join the breakfast tableau, I couldn't help but confront the palpable tension that had settled in the room.
"Good morning, everyone," I greeted, my voice a mere whisper, attempting to inject a semblance of cheer into the somber ambiance. A feeble attempt, it seemed, as my query about the severity of the morning met with skeptical glances and muted responses.
