Chapter 2
I read the page twice.
Not because I didn't understand it.
Because part of me wanted the words to change.
They didn't.
Florence.
Day four.
No food.
Dinner only if she talks.
Ivy and Owen next.
I closed the folder.
Vanessa climbed to her feet.
“That's not what it looks like.”
I almost laughed.
“What does starvation look like from your side of the room?”
Her face hardened.
“Discipline.”
Ivy flinched.
Vanessa saw it.
She didn't care.
“Your mother refused to cooperate.”
I looked at Florence.
“With what?”
My mother said nothing.
Vanessa answered for her.
“She enjoys being difficult.”
Florence finally looked at me.
“Gianluca—”
Vanessa cut across her.
“Oh, please.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Don't start acting fragile now.”
My hands tightened around the folder.
Vanessa continued.
“Four days without full meals isn't starvation.”
I stared at her.
“She ate enough.”
Florence whispered:
“Bread.”
Vanessa turned.
“What?”
“Two pieces yesterday.”
My stomach turned.
Vanessa laughed.
“There.”
She looked at me.
“You see? She ate.”
Ivy started crying.
Vanessa immediately frowned.
“What are you crying about?”
My daughter buried her face against my shoulder.
Vanessa scoffed.
“Three years old and already learning Grandma's tricks.”
I stepped between them.
“What tricks?”
“Making pain useful.”
Her voice became mocking.
“One little hunger pain, one little tear, and suddenly everybody owes them something.”
Owen stared at the burned food.
Vanessa noticed.
“You're not eating that.”
His eyes widened.
“Why?”
“Because you opened the cabinet after I told you not to.”
I looked at her.
“You're withholding food from him now?”
“He needs consequences.”
“He is three.”
“And?”
That word told me everything.
And?
Three.
Seventy-four.
Sick.
Hungry.
It didn't matter.
Only obedience did.
I opened the folder again.
The next page held a hand-drawn map of my house.
Kitchen.
Council room.
East hall.
Bedrooms.
Service stairs.
Old pantry.
Several doors had red circles around them.
I turned another page.
My schedule.
Monday council.
Wednesday docks.
Friday club.
Sunday dinner.
Beside several entries Vanessa had written:
HOME AFTER 11.
NO CONTACT DURING COUNCIL.
CHILDREN UPSTAIRS.
FLORENCE ALONE.
I looked at her.
“How long?”
She crossed her arms.
“How long what?”
“Have you been tracking when I'm gone?”
She smiled faintly.
“I live here.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“You're never here.”
Ivy whimpered against me.
Vanessa looked at her.
“See?”
Then back at me.
“They're spoiled because every time you appear, you undo everything.”
“What exactly am I undoing?”
“Structure.”
My mother laughed weakly.
Vanessa's face sharpened.
Florence looked at her.
“You call hunger structure?”
“If you'd answered one question, you'd be eating roast beef right now.”
There.
I heard it.
“So this isn't punishment.”
Silence.
“You wanted information.”
Vanessa's eyes narrowed.
I turned to Florence.
“What does she want?”
My mother looked toward the old pantry.
Vanessa stepped forward.
“Don't.”
I stared at her.
Florence whispered:
“The blue key.”
I frowned.
“What blue key?”
Vanessa closed her eyes.
Another mistake.
My mother answered.
“The one your father told me never to give anyone.”
The kitchen went completely still.
My father had been dead nine years.
I looked at Vanessa.
She smiled slowly.
Then said:
“Your father trusted an old woman with something she doesn't understand.”
Florence's face hardened.
Vanessa looked at her.
“And she's been making your children hungry because she thinks stubbornness makes her important.”
Ivy started crying harder.
Vanessa rolled her eyes.
“Cry louder.”
She looked directly at my daughter.
“Maybe Daddy will hear you next time he's gone.”
I felt something cold settle into place.
May you like
This had not started four days ago.
My daughter had heard that sentence before.
