Page 51 of Dr. Roz Harrington
Roz leaned back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. She wanted to be selfish. She wanted to keep Sam and hold onto the warmth and the quiet strength Sam brought into her life. But her mother’s voice was there, a shadow in the corner of her mind, cold and unrelenting.
“You can’t have both.”
The clock on the wall ticked away the minutes, each second an unbearable weight pressing on her chest. Roz knew she couldn’t sit here all day, drowning in her own thoughts. There was no space for hesitation, not when her mother’s words would soon ripple through the family like a tidal wave. She could already see it: Catherine’s disapproving stare, Olivia’s worried glances, the questions she wouldn’t be able to answer.
Sunday lunch.
It had been a tradition since they were children, another form of Harrington obligation that Roz had rarely managed to escape. If Catherine and Olivia didn’t already know, they would soon enough. Evelyn wouldn’t keep her disapproval to herself for long.
Roz’s phone buzzed again, and she jumped.
Sam:“I’m worried about you. Talk to me?”
The message cut through her like a blade. She wanted to reply, tell Sam everything,and admit how scared she was, how lost she felt. But she couldn’t. Not yet.
Roz turned her phone face-down on the coffee table and pushed herself to her feet. She had a few hours to pull herself together before lunch. A few hours to put on the armor she’d perfected over the years, the mask of calm detachment, the razor-sharp confidence that no one could shake.
She stepped into the shower, letting the hot water pound against her skin, trying to scrub away the lingering ache in her chest. She couldn’t let her sisters see her like this, cracked and vulnerable. Catherine would pounce on any sign of weakness, and Olivia… Olivia would just worry. Roz didn’t know which was worse.
By the time she stepped out of the bathroom, steam curling around her, Roz felt a little more like herself. She dressed carefully, black slacks, a crisp white shirt, and a tailored blazer that added to her polished armor. The version of herself her family expected. The version of herself that Evelyn had demanded she become.
Roz paused in front of the mirror, her gaze hardening as she adjusted her collar. Her reflection stared back, her face unreadable, the vulnerability buried deep. This was what it meant to be a Harrington. To smile through gritted teeth. To lock away the things that mattered most and pretend they didn’t hurt.
Her phone buzzed one more time, but she didn’t look at it. She knew who it was, and she wasn’t ready to face Sam yet, not with Evelyn’s words still ringing in her ears.
With one last glance at herself, Roz grabbed her keys and headed out the door.
It was going to be a long lunch.
The Harrington family home stood as it always had, grand and intimidating, a pristine monument to wealth and expectation. Roz’s car crunched over the gravel driveway, her hands gripping the steering wheel tighter with each turn. The looming mansion, its sharp lines and immaculate gardens, seemed to mock her. Roz let out a slow breath before stepping out of the car. She was dressed perfectly for the occasion, sharp and composed, her midnight black blazer and crisp white shirt pressed to perfection, her hair sleek and tucked behind her ears. She had learned over the years that presentation mattered. Especially here.
As she pushed open the heavy front door and stepped inside, the scent of rosemary and freshly baked bread wafted through the air. It should have been comforting. Instead, it settled in her chest like a stone.
She could hear the low murmur of voices coming from the dining room.Catherine’s here already,she thought grimly. That wasn’t surprising, Catherine never missed an opportunity to appear the perfect daughter. Roz paused in the entryway, taking one last moment to compose herself. The mask was firmly in place.
“Roz.” The voice was cool and clipped.
She turned, finding Evelyn standing at the bottom of the sweeping staircase. Her mother looked every bit the Harrington matriarch, her tailored gray dress immaculate, her pearl necklace perfectly centered. Evelyn’s expression betrayed nothing, her gaze sweeping over Roz like a scalpel.
“You’re late.”
“Good to see you, too, Mother,” Roz replied dryly, her smile thin. She didn’t wait for a response and continued into the dining room.
The Harrington dining room was a picture of controlled opulence. A long mahogany table stretched across the center, polished to a mirror-like sheen. Sunlight filtered in through the tall bay windows, casting golden light onto perfectly arranged china and silverware.
Catherine was already seated, sipping from a wine glass as she scrolled through her phone. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a severe twist, her blazer as stiff and pressed as Roz’s. She looked up when Roz entered, her gaze sharp and assessing.
“Roz,” Catherine greeted, setting her glass down with calculated precision. “Nice of you to join us.”
Roz bit back a retort and sat down across from her, ignoring the pointed stare.
Olivia entered moments later, her presence like a breath of fresh air in the tension-heavy room. She was dressed more casually, wearing a soft sweater, jeans, and an easy smile. She carried two wine glasses, one of which she set in front of Roz with a wink.
“Thought you might need this,” Olivia said quietly, squeezing Roz’s shoulder before taking her seat.
“More than you know,” Roz whispered before taking a sip. The wine was dry, sharp, and exactly what she needed.
“Where’s Lily?” Roz asked, more out of habit than genuine curiosity.
