ADVERTISEMENT
They prowled through my home like they owned it. Touching. Judging. Yelling. My mother talked over everyone, rewriting reality in real time. Then my father stepped closer. Too close.
“You’ve always thought you were better than us,” he said, his face inches from mine. I told him I only wanted respect. That’s when his hand closed around my throat.
The shock froze me before instinct kicked in. I clawed at his wrist, gasping, my vision narrowing as Madison stepped forward and kicked me hard in the ribs. Pain exploded through my side. My father tightened his grip.
“Some people just need to remember their place,” Madison said calmly.
My lungs burned. My ears rang. Panic surged as the room began to blur, and then I…
The text message came through on a Monday afternoon, two weeks before Thanksgiving, while I was reviewing contracts in my home office. The floor to ceiling windows overlooked the grounds of my estate, and I watched the gardeners working near the fountain as my phone buzzed.
Mom, we’re only having your sister’s family this year. I stared at the screen for a long moment. The casual cruelty of it shouldn’t have surprised me anymore, but something about seeing it in writing made my chest tighten. me have a good time. I kept my response brief because I’d learned years ago that engaging only gave them more ammunition.
ADVERTISEMENT
