GoodReadChapter 301
with the
Mirabella slid back into her seat subtle grace of a cat reclaiming its favorite sunny
spot.
Just as Delilah was about to inquire who her daughter had been speaking with, her gaze lifted to see Emmitt
entering the room, prompting her to snap her lips shut. She cast a cautious glance at Mirabella’s expression. The
siblings were wrapped in a thick fog of
misunderstanding.
Clearing her throat, Delilah set aside her fork. “Emmitt, you're back? Have you had dinner?”
As she spoke, Zach and Leo, both hunched over their plates, along with Shawn, turned to look at Emmitt. Their
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtfaces mirrored Delilah’s reaction, an uncanny mixture of concern and curiosity. Then, almost reflexively, their
gazes shifted to Mirabella as if to ensure she was alright.
Emmitt felt a sting at the sight, the bitterness in his throat intensifying. After a moment, he nodded to Delilah.
“Yeah, I've eaten.”
The air turned awkward, thick with the unspoken. Delilah, for once, found herself at a loss for words. It was Zach
who broke the silence, “Emmitt, you're hlate. Got something on your mind?”
“Mmm,” Emmitt hummed, striving for a tone of nonchalance. “I saw online that Leo got hurt. Is that true?”
Leo’s hand trembled, nearly dropping his fork.
Delilah, unaware of any such incident, chuckled, “Oh, no. Your brother is fine. Look at him.”
Emmitt’s gaze shifted to Leo, and seeing that he bore no resemblance to the rumors online, he relaxed, “Good,
that’s good.”
Leo coughed, lifting his head to add, “The inteis full of wild tales. Don’t believe it. It'll blow
over soon.”
“Right,” Emmitt replied, dropping the subject.
Conversations dwindled, and once again, the dining room fell into silence. Emmitt stood still, suddenly feeling
like an outsider. He took a deep breath and forced a smile. “You guys enjoy your meal.”
With that, he moved toward the living room, his eyes fleetingly catching the gleam of trophies in a glass cabinet,
his expression distant as he noticed two certificates hanging on the wall. He approached them-one for first place
at the national competition, the other for first place in a French contest.
At that moment, Shawn finished his meal, and approached Emmitt, who was lost in thought, staring at the
certificates. Remembering he had recorded a video of Mirabella’s competition that day. Shawn pulled out his
phone. He unlocked it, opened the few minutes-long competition
video, and tapped Emmitt’s arm. “Take a look at this.”
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He wanted Emmitt to see his little sister's excellence in person and dispel misunderstandings through her
undeniable talent.
Emmitt’s eyes lowered to the phone screen. There was Mirabella, standing at the podium in the video, her face
alight with confidence, her French crisp and clear, commanding the stage with an aura that made it impossible
not to recognize her brilliance.
For a moment, Emmitt was transfixed. He remembered a twhen he had scoffed at Mirabella for reading a
French book, accusing her of being pretentious. But what was the reality? The video seemed to mock him,
highlighting his ignorance.
He looked away before the video ended.
Shawn simply patted his son’s shoulder, saying nothing more. Slessons had to be learned
on one’s own.
The next day, as soon as the school bell signaled freedom, Mirabella’s phone began to buzz insistently. She
pulled it out of her pocket, calm and unhurried.
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