DEBORAH'S POV
I stood in the kitchen at five in the morning, my hands moving automatically as I cracked eggs into the bowl. The house was still quiet, everyone else asleep, but I couldn't stay in bed any longer. My mind kept racing between Father's funeral today and everything that had happened last night with Uncle Dominic.
The eggs sizzled as they hit the hot pan, and I reached for my phone to start making calls. The caterer first, then the florist, then the funeral director to confirm the timing. Each conversation blurred into the next, but I kept cooking while I talked, needing something to do with my hands.
"Yes, the service is at ten," I said into the phone, flipping the eggs with one hand. "The burial immediately after, then everyone back to the house for the reception."
I was setting out plates when Victoria called. I balanced the phone against my shoulder and kept working.
"Morning, Vicky. Everything okay?"
