The room fell into a sudden, awkward silence. I stared at the empty chair placed right next to him. I hadn’t eaten anything at all the entire day. Slowly, I reached out and pulled the chair out to sit. The loud scraping sound of the wood across the floor made Margaret slam her palm down on the table with a bang.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed at me.
“I just need to sit for a minute,” I whispered, tears stinging my eyes. “The baby is kicking very hard.”
Her eyes flashed with a sudden, sharp fury.
“Servants do not sit with the family,” she spat out. “You can eat in the kitchen after we are all finished. And you will eat standing up. It’s good for the baby.”
I looked over at Thomas, hoping—just once in our marriage—he would defend me. Instead, he calmly took a slow sip of his expensive wine.
“Just do what my mother says, Claire,” he replied. “Stop making a scene.”
A sharp, agonizing cramp suddenly twisted through my stomach.
“Thomas… something’s wrong,” I gasped, clutching my belly.
Margaret followed me back into the kitchen, her expression tight with intense irritation.
