Question

For years, Mrs. Delancey had regarded Teresa as a mere ornament of her drawing room, a quiet niece whose silence was mistaken for obedience. Yet, as the embers in the hearth dwindled to a gray ash, the ledger between them lay open, its columns of figures reflecting a reality Mrs. Delancey could no longer ignore. Teresa did not shrink under the older woman’s sharp gaze; instead, she leaned forward, her finger resting on an entry from three winters past. "You see, Aunt," Teresa said, her voice devoid of its accustomed tremor, "the discrepancies were never yours to conceal. They were mine to permit." Mrs. Delancey felt the cold draft from the window press against her spine. The girl who had once stood at the periphery of every family council now occupied its center, not by invitation, but by conquest. The parlor, once a sanctuary of Mrs. Delancey’s unquestioned authority, had transformed into a court where she was no longer the judge. "And what is it you intend to do with this... permission?" Mrs. Delancey asked, her tone dry, though her hands tightened beneath her shawl. Teresa smiled, a small, humorless curve of her lips. "Only what you taught me, Aunt. To preserve the house, even if we must rebuild the foundation."

Which of the following best describes the shift in the relationship between Teresa and Mrs. Delancey over the course of the passage?