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and placed it on the counter.
The refrigerator was empty. My wife’s hands were trembling. And upstairs, my daughter was livestreaming her new designer bag, bought with the money meant for food. “Dad won’t do anything,” Mia whispered to her boyfriend.
Mia’s face flushed. “You can’t talk to him like that.”
“This is my house.”
She laughed. “Actually, you put everything in Mom’s name for tax reasons, remember? And she’s not exactly sharp right now.”
Elena’s fingers tightened around mine.
There it was.
The smell of the trap.
