The long dinning table that could seat twenty people felt incredibly empty tonight. The crystal chandeliers above cast a bright light, but they could not chase away the heavy, sad shadows in the room.
Only two people sat at the massive table.
Derek sat perfectly straight at the very head of the table. He was no longer wearing his dark military uniform. He had changed into a simple, loose white shirt and dark trousers to rest his injured back. His right hand was tightly wrapped in white bandages. He stared at his silver plate, but he did not pick up his fork. He had absolutely no appetite.
Down the right side of the table, sitting in a tall wooden chair with a thick cushion, was young Ryan.
