Richard laughed, impressed despite himself. “That’s commitment. Daniel can barely walk to the mailbox when it rains.”

Eleanor shot him a glance, then turned back to me.

“It’s wonderful to see someone so grounded. I sometimes tell Daniel that ambition is important, but stability is what builds a future. You’re lucky, Claire. Not everyone can live so freely without worrying about long-term plans.”

I nodded, my voice calm. “Freedom has its own kind of stability. I think it teaches you what you can live without.”

For the first time, the smile on her face faltered.

“How philosophical,” she murmured.

Dinner was announced by a housekeeper who moved so quietly she might have been a shadow. The dining room was everything you’d expect: a long, linen-covered table, crystal glasses, candles flickering against the gleam of silverware. I could see my reflection in every polished surface.

We sat—Eleanor across from me, Richard at the head, Daniel beside me. The first course arrived: beet salad arranged like art.

“You must love beautiful things,” Eleanor said, gesturing toward my plate. “Being in design and all.”

“I do,” I replied. “But I think beauty is a side effect of function done well.”

“How interesting,” she said, tilting her head. “I suppose that’s why your work must be so creative. Daniel mentioned you’re a freelancer.”

“Yes. That’s right.”

“Oh, must be exciting,” Richard chimed in. “Never knowing what the next month will bring.”

I smiled lightly. “It keeps me on my toes.”

Eleanor leaned forward, her voice honeyed. “If you ever need help with connections, clients, investors… we’d be happy to introduce you to a few people. We know several firms looking for in-house designers. You’d have more structure, perhaps.”

“That’s generous of you,” I said, meeting her gaze. “But I’m happy where I am. I value freedom more than structure.”

“Air,” she said softly, nodding. “Freedom. Such a lovely word. Though of course it’s easier to enjoy when you don’t have to think about bills or retirement plans.”

Daniel shifted beside me, clearing his throat. “Mom…”

“Oh, I’m only teasing,” she said, waving a hand. “Don’t be so sensitive. We’re just talking.”

But the air had changed. Beneath the flicker of candlelight, every word carried a quiet weight, each compliment edged with something sharper.

Richard turned to me again. “So, what kind of clients do you usually work with?”