Chapter 10
Mother recovered slower than I wanted.
Of course.
Six days do not vanish because dinner returns.
At first she hid bread in napkins.
Bianca noticed.
Said nothing.
Just started leaving a small basket beside Mother’s favorite chair.
Fruit.
Crackers.
Bread.
No asking.
No permission.
I had seen fear around food before in soldiers and children.
Never my mother.
That anger reached places violence could not.
One afternoon I found her staring at the basket.
“You can eat.”
She looked annoyed.
“I know.”
Good.
Then:
“I’m saving it.”
“For what?”
“Later.”
I sat beside her.
“There will be food later.”
She looked at me.
Sharp.
“Promise?”
My mother had fed half this family during hard years.
Now she needed her son to promise dinner existed.
I hated Hattie for that moment more than for the chain.
“Yes.”
Mother took a cracker.
Ate half.
Then asked:
“Did you find Bianca?”
“She found us.”
Mother smiled faintly.
“She always was stubborn.”
“Yes.”
Then:
“I almost said it.”
My chest tightened.
“What?”
“That Bianca left willingly.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“Ella.”
Hattie had threatened nothing explicit.
Again.
She simply said:
“If you keep causing trouble, maybe Ella shouldn’t spend so much time around someone confused.”
Mother feared losing her granddaughter.
By day six, hunger plus fear almost worked.
“I’m sorry.”
She frowned.
“For what?”
“I built a family where people could use access as punishment.”
Mother considered.
Then smacked my hand lightly.
“Stop making everything about you.”
There she was.
I laughed.
Good.
Then she said:
“Hattie learned that somewhere.”
Yes.
From all of us.
The Carbone family had always controlled closeness.
Who sat where.
Who got invited.
Who was trusted.
Who was frozen out.
We called it loyalty.
Sometimes it was.
Sometimes it was just social hunger dressed better.
May you like
Hattie weaponized a tradition we had already normalized.
Fixing her alone would not fix that.
