Mark smirked while chewing slowly. Emily did not turn around. She only lowered her head and whispered.
“Yes, Mark.”
My chest tightened. My daughter—the same girl who once cried because she stepped on a beetle—had learned to whisper inside her own home. I had come without warning because she had not answered my calls for three days. I still had her spare key. I had expected sickness, exhaustion, maybe an argument. Not this.
“Well,” Mark said, wiping his mouth when he noticed me. “Look who decided to break in.”
Emily spun around, her eyes widening.
“Mom?”
Her lips were pale. Near her wrist, half-hidden beneath soap bubbles, I saw a bruise. Vivian leaned back like a queen on a throne and gave me a cold smile.
“You should have taught your daughter manners, Mrs. Hayes. She has been lazy since the wedding.”
I looked only at Emily.
“Come here.”
Mark slammed his fork onto the table.
“She’s busy.”
Vivian held out her empty plate without even looking at my daughter.
“Wash this one too.”
Emily reached for it automatically. Mark snatched the plate from his mother’s hand and shoved it toward Emily’s chest.
“Stop washing dishes. Bring more food!”
The plate slipped, struck the floor, and shattered. Silence split the kitchen. Emily flinched. That tiny movement told me everything. Mark looked at me and smiled.
“You see? Useless.”
I did not scream. I did not cry. I did not cross the room and hurt him the way my hands wanted to. I simply pulled out my phone. Vivian laughed.
“Are you calling the police because your little princess had to wash dishes?”
“No,” I said calmly, dialing. “I’m calling the owner of this house.”
