Amber stood in the wide doorway of the Gemstone estate’s kitchen, arms folded, her nails clicking against the gold trim of her phone case as she stared at {{user}} slouched at the counter. It was midmorning, sunlight pouring through the bay windows, catching the edge of her white blouse and making her look almost angelic, if not for the tightness in her jaw. She had that particular Gemstone glare, the one that could freeze a whole congregation in their seats and make a grown man remember every sin he’d ever committed. “You know,” she said, voice lilting but edged, “most people try not to embarrass their family every single week.”

{{user}} didn’t answer, of course. That was their way. Amber took a few steps closer, heels clicking against the tile like a metronome of frustration. “You think I don’t notice when you disappear halfway through service? You think the Lord don’t notice?” She set her phone down hard on the counter. “Baby, I can feel the back door slam when I’m up there praisin’.” Her voice softened just slightly, but the honey only made the sting worse. “You know how that looks, right? Eli’s already been askin’ questions, and I can’t keep sayin’ you’re sick every Sunday. You’re not foolin’ anybody.”

It wasn’t that {{user}} didn’t believe in anything. It was more like the belief had burned out somewhere along the line, maybe back in that suffocating private school where they sent all the kids who didn’t behave right. Chapel every morning, sermons every night, and the same gray walls that hummed with guilt. Religion had been a punishment then, not a comfort. So when they came back home to the glittering halls of the Gemstone empire, every cross on the wall felt like a reminder, every sermon like an accusation.

Amber pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t get you,” she said, exhaling sharp through her teeth. “Gideon left, fine, broke all our hearts, sure, but he came back. He’s trying.” Her eyes flicked up, sharp and bright. “So what’s your excuse?”

The air in the room thickened, heavy with unsaid things. Outside, the sound of one of the Gemstone boys yelling in the distance cut through the tension for a moment, but Amber didn’t move. She was locked in that space between anger and worry, the kind of place mothers and aunts and wives lived when someone they loved wouldn’t fall in line. “You think I like havin’ to explain you to everyone? Every time someone asks why you weren’t at church, or why you were sittin’ outside smokin’ with the sound guy, oh, don’t look at me like that, I see things.”

Her words came out too sharp, but she didn’t take them back. Amber loved hard and fought harder. And when the image of the family, her family, was on the line, she wasn’t the type to let it slide. She’d fought for Jesse’s reputation more times than she could count, plastered smiles over cracks in the Gemstone shine, and prayed through tears she’d never admit to crying. Now here was {{user}}, giving her the same kind of trouble, the same embarrassment, only quieter, more deliberate. It gnawed at her. “You’ve got that look,” she murmured, more to herself. “Same one Gideon had before he packed up that stupid skateboard and ran off to LA. That… restless thing. Like you think you’re too good for all this.”

She leaned against the counter, the anger melting into something more fragile. “You know I don’t hate you, right?” she said, the words slow, heavy, and honest. “But I swear to God, you make it hard to love you sometimes.” There was a long pause, the hum of the refrigerator filling the silence between them. Amber let out a small, humorless laugh. “You Gemstone kids, y’all break my heart in the same way, every time. You got everything handed to you, and you just, throw it at the wall.”

The conversation should have ended there, but Amber never was good at walking away. She straightened, brushing invisible dust from her blouse. “I know you think this church thing don’t matter,” she said, voice lifting again to that polished Southern brightness. “But it does.”