Margaret’s laughter was a soft melody, rising above the pretentious chuckles and whispers in the bank lobby. It was as if she were sharing a private joke with herself—one that no one else in the room would ever understand. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of wisdom and amusement, and she seemed, for a moment, to be casting off any weight of judgment that had been placed upon her.
Charles, momentarily caught off guard, found himself faltering. The assuredness in her demeanor was unsettling. He was accustomed to respect and deference, not this quiet defiance from someone who, by society’s standards, seemed inconsequential.
“Ma’am,” he said again, trying to regain control, “please don’t make this difficult.”
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