“The crying,” Cecelia said simply, before turning and walking away, leaving Millie rooted to the spot.

That night, Millie couldn’t sleep. The memory of Cecelia’s words haunted her. By midnight, she decided to act. She crept downstairs to the kitchen, where Nina kept a bottle of wine. If she was going to figure this out, she needed Nina to talk—and the best way to loosen her lips was through alcohol.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Nina asked when Millie brought the wine to the living room.

Millie forced a laugh. “I thought we both deserved a little break.”

Nina hesitated but eventually relented. As the wine flowed, her usual controlled demeanor began to crack.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Nina said, staring into her glass. “This house, this family—it’s not as perfect as it looks.”

Millie leaned forward. “You can talk to me. I won’t judge.”

Nina’s laugh was brittle. “You’d judge if you knew. Everyone judges me.” She swirled the wine. “But they don’t see what I deal with. What he puts me through.”

“He” could only mean Andrew. Millie’s heart raced as she pushed gently. “You mean Mr. Winchester?”