The silence that followed Greta's words was thick and heavy.
Zara stared at her mother, waiting for the rest of the sentence. Waiting for a joke. Waiting for a reason that made sense. None came.
"What do you mean I am not going anywhere," Zara asked quietly.
Greta kept her eyes on her plate. "I mean exactly what I said."
Patrick shifted in his seat. "Greta"
She cut him off with a look. "No."
Zara's hands curled into fists beneath the table. "She invited me for a week. One week."
"You are not traveling alone," Greta replied. "And I am not sending you off to stay with strangers."
"They are not strangers. You know her father. You have met him."
"That does not change anything."
Zara laughed once, sharp and humorless. "Of course it does not."
Patrick cleared his throat. "It might be good for her Greta. She has been cooped up here."
"I will begin teaching her soon," Greta said stiffly. "She does not need distractions."
Zara pushed her chair back slightly. "This is not a distrction, this is my life."
Greta finally looked at her then. Her expression was tired. Annoyed. Firm. "And because you are my daughter, I am saying no."
Something ugly rose in Zara's chest.
"So that is it," she said. "You decide everything and I just sit here and accept it."
"Yes," Greta said. "That is how this works."
Patrick frowned. "Greta that is not fair."
Greta turned to him. "Do not undermine me in front of her."
Zara stood abruptly, the chair screeching against the floor. "You do not get to pretend this is about safety," she snapped. "You just do not want me to leave."
"That's not true Zara," Greta said.
Zara laughed again. "You do not want me to see that there is more out there. You do not want me to remember who I was before this place."
Greta's lips pressed into a thin line. "Go to your room."
"No."
The word surprised even Zara.
Patrick stood as well. "Zara"
"I said no," Zara repeated, louder now. "I am sick of being stuck here. Sick of being treated like a child. Sick of pretending this is enough."
Greta's face hardened and she stood up slowly, hands on her stomach. "You are not going."
"Then you will have to lock me in," Zara shot back.
The room went still.
Patrick stepped between them instinctively. "Enough. Both of you."
Zara's chest was heaving. Tears burned but did not fall. She grabbed the letter from the table and held it tightly.
"You do not get to take this from me," she said. "This is the only thing that has been mine in a long time."
Greta's voice softened just a fraction. "Zara please"
But it was too late.
Zara turned and fled down the narrow hallway, slamming her bedroom door behind her. The thin walls did nothing to block the sounds of raised voices that followed.
She slid down the door and pressed the letter to her chest.
Resha. Home. A life that still existed somewhere.
She unfolded the paper again and reread the words until her eyes blurred.
"Please write back. Come visit."
Zara closed her eyes.
She would.