Chapter 2
I ordered dinner brought immediately.
Not leftovers.
Not whatever Celina decided remained.
Fresh food.
Ivy and Owen sat beside Teresa at the kitchen table and ate so quickly my mother began quietly slowing them down.
“Little bites.”
I watched her tear bread into smaller pieces.
Her hands shook.
Not age.
Exhaustion.
Celina stood across the room between two bodyguards.
She hated being ignored.
“This performance is ridiculous.”
I looked at her.
The twins stopped chewing.
That reaction mattered.
Children learn the temperature of a room faster than adults do.
“Keep eating,” I told them.
Ivy stared at Celina.
“Mommy gets mad when we eat before Grandma finishes.”
My chest tightened.
I looked at Teresa.
“How long?”
She hesitated.
Celina interrupted.
“Don’t encourage this.”
I raised one finger.
She stopped.
My mother looked ashamed.
That hurt.
She was seventy-five and somebody had made her ashamed of being mistreated inside her son’s home.
“Three months,” she whispered.
I stared.
Three months.
I had eaten dinners in this house.
Held council meetings.
Kissed my children goodnight.
Three months.
“How?”
Teresa glanced toward the twins.
I understood.
“Tell me.”
Her eyes filled.
“If I did not cook, they did not eat.”
Silence.
I looked at Celina.
She rolled her eyes.
“They’re exaggerating.”
Teresa continued.
“If I sat down before the kitchen was clean, she took their plates.”
My hands curled against the chair.
“If I complained, she said the children would learn hunger because I was selfish.”
Celina snapped.
“I was teaching responsibility.”
I turned.
“To a seventy-five-year-old woman?”
“To this household.”
“No.”
My voice lowered.
“You were teaching my mother that my children’s hunger was her fault.”
Celina’s face hardened.
That was exactly what she had done.
Control does not always begin with chains.
Sometimes it begins by making one person responsible for another person’s suffering.
Teresa would obey because Ivy and Owen needed food.
The children would remain quiet because Grandma would be punished if they spoke.
Perfect.
Simple.
Cruel.
Then Owen whispered something that made my mother start crying.
“Grandma gives us her food.”
May you like
I looked at Teresa.
She had been starving too.
