My name is Margaret, and I was the sole discordant note in this perfect symphony. Seated in the front pew, clad in a traditional, elegant silk dress, my face was a mask of placid neutrality. The family mistook my composure for bitterness. They believed I was an old woman, jealous of youth, clinging to an era of outmoded traditions. They couldn’t fathom that my stillness was not disapproval, but the coiled patience of a predator.