A strange emotion grabs hold of her heart and squeezes. She feels suddenly like a spider in its web, watching herself from the darkest corner of the room. From here, Margaret sees herself for what she is. A dour, inkblot stain on the brightness of this home. She doesn’t belong with these people. She doesn’t deserve their kindness or their attempts to fold her into their easy rapport with one another. No, it’s more than rapport. They love each other. It suffuses every kind gesture and sharp word.
