TEN MINUTES HAD PASSED SINCE IRINA had offered her apologies, but my mind was still consumed with the words my father had exchanged with her. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he wasn't telling us, something that he was keeping hidden deep within the recesses of his mind. Was it possible that he was secretly afraid of the Volturi? Was that why he had left us all those years ago?

"I witnessed a coven committing a heinous crime, and it must be reported to the Volturi. Surely you understand."

As I pondered these questions, my mind began to race with even more uncertainty. What coven was Irina referring to? What had they done to make her seek out the Volturi? The mere thought of it sent shivers down my spine. Whatever it was, it couldn't have been good.

I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as I sat there, lost in thought. The mystery surrounding my father's past and Irina's involvement with the Volturi was enough to make my head spin. But one thing was for certain - I needed to find out the truth, no matter what the cost.

The hunt had been a success, Mum and Dad had returned with six magnificent deer and even a rat, which Mum had made sure was real before bringing it home. The memory of Ethan's prank with the fake rat still lingered in my mind, the image of Mum going animalistic and ripping its head off was not one easily forgotten.

As we sat around the table, the scent of blood filled the air and everyone was enjoying the feast. Simon, Alana and Ethan sat on the left, while Joseph, Rhona and I sat on the right. Mum and Dad sat at the head of the table, their presence commanding respect.

I couldn't help but notice that something was off with Dad. He hadn't been himself since Irina's visit and I felt like a child sensing a shift in my parents' atmosphere. Mum seemed to notice it too, as she walked over to him and placed her hand on his shoulder, a silent gesture of support.

"Darling, are you alright?" Mum inquired, her voice laced with worry.

"I'm fine, my love," Dad replied, taking her hand and giving it a gentle rub.

"I couldn't help but notice that you've been rather quiet for the past few minutes," Mum said, her concern growing.

"It's just that Irina stopped by," Dad explained.

"Really? That must have been quite a journey. Why did she come?" Mum asked, her curiosity piqued.

"She wanted to speak with me," I interjected, causing Mum to turn her gaze towards me, her striking gold eyes filled with intrigue.

"She wanted to apologise," I continued.

Mum's concern deepened as she asked, "Apologise for what?"

I took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to explain the situation. "It was a moment of confusion, really. Irina was upset and she lashed out at me. But it wasn't because of anything I did. It was because of a shapeshifter that she saw. And I misunderstood the situation, thinking that Irina was being prejudiced against Native Americans. So I spoke up, defending Edward and Bella, and things got a little heated."

Mum shook her head, still clearly upset. "I can't believe this. At a wedding, of all places."

"I know, Mum," I said, trying to placate her. "But it's all in the past now. We've talked it out and everything's fine."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Talk it out? You mean you didn't fight?"

I smiled wryly. "No, we didn't fight. We had a civil conversation and cleared up the misunderstanding."

Simon grinned. "Well, I guess that's one way to handle things."

I shrugged. "It's not always about fighting. Sometimes, you just need to talk things out and find a way to move forward."

Mum sighed, still looking troubled. "I just hope this doesn't happen again."

"Don't worry, Mum," I said, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I think we've all learned our lesson."

"Who was the unfortunate victim of this vicious attack?" Ethan inquired with a curious tilt of his head.

"Seth Clearwater," I replied, my voice heavy with concern.

"Ahh, Seth," Ethan mused, a hint of recognition in his tone. "He's a decent lad, if I do say so myself."

"Ethan!" His mother's sharp rebuke cut through the air like a knife. "We do not consort with wolves."

"Ah, but Mother," Ethan countered, his voice laced with defiance. "We are only forbidden from interacting with the Children of the Moon, not shapeshifters. There is a distinction, you know."

"Indeed," Simon chimed in, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "And nowhere does it say we cannot engage with shapeshifters."

"Children of the Moon, shapeshifters," Alana groaned, her voice tinged with frustration. "What difference does it make? They are all the same to me."

As I sat at the table, my senses were heightened. Suddenly, I felt a subtle shift in the air, and the table began to lift off the ground. I wondered if anyone else had noticed. I turned my head to see Dad staring down at the table, his eyes intense with concentration. I remembered that he had the power to move objects with his mind. Mum rubbed his shoulders, trying to soothe him.

But then, the tension in the room escalated. Alana's voice rose above the fray, her words sharp and cutting. "I will not be made the enemy here," she declared, her tone ringing with defiance. "You know why we can't interact with them."

Ethan tried to intervene, his voice calm and measured. "Mum, it doesn't include them," he reasoned.

But Simon's voice cut through the air like a knife. "The Volturi..." he said, his words trailing off ominously.

"I don't care, Dad," Ethan spat back, his eyes blazing with fury.

And then, in a sudden burst of rage, his voice boomed through the room. "SILENCE!" he shouted, and the table flew across the room, crashing into the wall with a deafening thud.

Shards of glass danced across the floor, their sharp edges glinting in the dim light. Blood spattered in a macabre pattern, like a twisted work of art. My eyes slowly turned towards the source of the chaos, and I saw the table lying on its back, its legs reaching towards the ceiling. Talk about turning the table.

The room was silent, save for the sound of our collective breaths. We all stared at our leader, waiting for him to speak. Even I, who was never one to shy away from a confrontation, was quiet in his presence. Dad's face was pale, his expression one of shock and disbelief. He took a deep breath and slowly backed away.

"I need to calm down," he announced, his voice barely above a whisper. He turned and walked towards the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

Mum followed him, her eyes filled with worry and concern. We sat in silence, as he had instructed us to do just moments before. I looked around at the rest of my family, wondering what had just happened.

"What was that about?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"I forgot he gets upset when we mention them," my brother Ethan replied, his voice barely audible.

I knew that Dad's life in the Volturi was bad, but I had never realised just how bad it was. As I turned my head back towards the table, memories flooded my mind. Memories of a time before Gavin had remarried, before I had met Ayla. A time when things were more difficult, and life was much harder.

I was just a mere eight years old, sitting at the dinner table with Gavin. The light above us was bright and unyielding, casting a harsh glow over our plates of spaghetti and meatballs. Gavin sat at one end of the table, his face etched with lines of frustration and anger. I sat at the other end, my brown eyes fixed on my plate, my appetite suddenly gone.

"Life's funny," Gavin muttered, his voice low and bitter. I looked up at him, wondering what had brought on this sudden change in mood.

"Society keeps telling people to get married and have children," he continued, his words heavy with meaning. "Husbands are supposed to be the breadwinners, and wives are supposed to be the homemakers. And what about widows and widowers? They're just supposed to carry on like nothing happened."

I listened to his words, feeling a sense of unease creeping over me. Gavin's words were like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over our dinner.

"What a joke," he said, his voice rising in anger. "Death is supposed to be so wonderful. No pain, no suffering. But it's ruined my life!"

Startled by his booming voice, I jolted and turned to face Gavin.

I didn't know what to say. I was just a child, too young to understand the complexities of life and death. But I could feel the weight of Gavin's words, heavy and oppressive, like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon. And I knew, even then, that life was not always fair, and that sometimes, even the strongest among us could be brought to our knees by the cruel hand of fate.

His piercing gaze locked onto mine, and I immediately knew I had made a grave mistake.

"What are you staring at?" Gavin snarled, his tone laced with venom. "What's your issue?"

I wanted to say nothing, to defend myself, but my tongue was tied in knots. I stood there, frozen, unable to utter a single word.

"Is this not the life you envisioned?" Gavin sneered, leaning in closer to the table. "Did you think it would be a walk in the park? Do you honestly believe that I'm to blame for our living conditions? That I'm responsible for your mother's death?"

I fought back the tears that threatened to spill over, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.

"She didn't do anything, Gavin. She's just a child. What does Chief Swan know about what I'm going through? His child's mother is still alive. His child didn't even kill her. Yet here I am, raising a murderer."

Gavin's rage was palpable as he rose from his seat, sending the table crashing to the ground and dinner flying in all directions. I took a step back, my heart racing as he advanced towards me like a predator stalking its prey.

"It's your fault," he hissed, his breath hot against my face.

"Daddy, no," I pleaded, but it was no use.

"You killed your mother!"

The slap came out of nowhere, the force of it sending me tumbling to the ground. I whimpered in pain, my hand pressed to my stinging cheek. I knew better than to cry, though. Gavin would only hit me again if I did.

I scrambled to my feet and fled to my bedroom, tears streaming down my face as I cried myself to sleep.

"Violet," a voice whispered, and I jolted awake. It wasn't Gavin's voice.