Chapter 3
I thought I knew what anger felt like.
I didn't.
Not until my mother referred to my son as motivation.
Noah.
Six days old.
Used like a reward.
I walked toward her.
“How many times?”
Evelyn lifted her chin.
“Don't interrogate me in my son's house.”
“My house.”
Her expression changed.
Small.
Enough.
“How many?”
She folded her arms.
“Twice.”
Marissa shook her head.
“Five.”
Mother turned.
“You lying little—”
“Five,” Marissa repeated.
Her fear was gone now.
“Tuesday morning.”
She counted on her fingers.
“Tuesday night. Wednesday afternoon. Last night. Today.”
I stared at Mother.
“You took Noah from Clara five times.”
“She was becoming dependent.”
“She is his mother.”
“And?”
The word came again.
That cold little word.
And.
As if motherhood meant nothing compared with Evelyn's rules.
“She held him every time he cried.”
The doctor looked at her like she had spoken another language.
Evelyn noticed.
“What?”
Nobody answered.
She laughed.
“You people act like I'm a monster because I refused to let a grown woman manipulate everyone with tears.”
I looked at Clara.
She was awake now.
Barely.
A nurse supported her against the pillows.
Her face was pale.
She looked at me.
Then Noah.
“Can I have him?”
I brought him immediately.
Mother scoffed.
“There.”
I turned.
She pointed at Clara.
“One little question and everyone jumps.”
Clara's arms tightened around our son.
Mother continued.
“She knows exactly what she's doing.”
Clara whispered:
“I was hungry.”
Evelyn laughed.
“God, listen to yourself.”
I stared at her.
Clara didn't.
She kept looking at Noah.
“I asked for toast.”
Mother crossed her arms.
“And I told you dinner was in three hours.”
“You made me serve it.”
“Because sitting in bed feeling sorry for yourself wasn't helping anyone.”
Clara looked at me.
Tears filled her eyes.
“I thought you knew.”
That hurt more than anything else.
“What?”
“She said you agreed.”
I turned toward Mother.
Her face changed.
Just slightly.
Clara continued.
“She said you told her I was getting weak.”
I felt cold.
“She said you wanted me to learn what being a Carter wife meant.”
I walked toward Evelyn.
“Did you use my name?”
She shrugged.
“You would've agreed if you'd been here.”
“No.”
“You're emotional.”
I laughed once.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“That's what you called Clara.”
Her mouth tightened.
I turned toward my wife.
“What else?”
Clara hesitated.
Mother smiled.
“Go ahead.”
Her voice turned mocking.
“Tell him every terrible thing.”
Clara looked down.
Mother continued.
“Tell him I made you stand up.”
Silence.
“Tell him I expected you to bathe.”
I stepped closer.
“Mother.”
She ignored me.
“Tell him you cried because your robe hurt your stitches.”
Clara's face crumpled.
Evelyn smiled.
“There. That face.”
My hands tightened.
Mother pointed.
“That is how she controls you.”
I stared at the woman who raised me.
She genuinely believed cruelty was wisdom.
“Clara.”
My wife looked at me.
“What else?”
She swallowed.
“Yesterday…”
Her eyes shifted toward Victor.
He smiled.
Clara looked away.
“What happened?”
Victor leaned back.
“Careful.”
I turned.
He smiled at Clara.
“Your husband wasn't here yesterday.”
The threat was obvious.
So was his confidence.
He thought yesterday still mattered more than now.
I looked at Clara again.
She whispered:
“I found Marissa trying to bring me food.”
Mother rolled her eyes.
“Contraband toast. Terrifying.”
Clara continued.
“Victor took it.”
He smiled.
“I was hungry.”
“You threw it in the trash.”
His smile widened.
“Same destination.”
Marissa looked sick.
Clara's voice shook.
“Then he said if I complained…”
She stopped.
Victor spoke for her.
“I told her to imagine how quiet the house would be if Daniel came home and found out his wife couldn't handle a baby.”
I stared.
He shrugged.
“Motivation.”
The same word.
Of course.
I looked at Mother.
They had been teaching each other.
Then Clara whispered:
“He said Noah could be raised without me.”
Victor stopped smiling.
I turned slowly.
“What?”
Clara tightened her arms around our son.
“He said your mother already prepared the upstairs nursery.”
Silence.
I looked at Evelyn.
Her face went still.
There it was.
The first real fear.
“Which nursery?”
She said nothing.
Marissa answered.
“The west wing.”
I stared.
That room had been locked for sixteen years.
Since my father died.
And according to every person in this house, no one had used it since.
May you like
Mother finally spoke.
“You weren't supposed to know about that yet.”
