Throughout the mansion, massive LED screens were mounted on the walls of almost every major room, usually displaying high-resolution digital art or the current climate settings.

There was one right here in the transition room, a sixty-inch display flush-mounted into the dark wood paneling.

There was another, even larger one in the main foyer just beyond the archway.

“Emiliano, please,” Patricia said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she stepped closer to him, trying to block his view of his phone. “Think of the girls. This kind of drama is not good for them.”

She reached out to touch the screen of his phone, as if to gently push it down.

My father took a step back, avoiding her touch entirely.

It was the first time he had physically distanced himself from her since entering the room.

Patricia’s hand hovered in the air for a second before she slowly lowered it to her side.

Her mask was starting to slip, the corners of her mouth twitching with a tension she couldn’t quite hide.

“I am thinking of my family,” my father said.