The reply was a dry, ceremonious slap. The wine crashed in the glass and drew a ruby arc on the marble.
—Ungrateful. You forget your place. Here you’re not a mother. You’re an employee. And employees don’t choose where they go
The twins’ crying grew louder. Elena, her face flushed and her eyes bloodshot, tried to soothe them. “Please, don’t hit me in front of them…”
But Catherine’s lined eyes gleamed with a hardness that seemed to feed on every plea. “If you can’t stay still, I’ll make sure you do.”
She threw her onto the bed. The linen stretched taut until it creaked. Her wrists, up, pinned to the wood. The babies, wedged against her chest, held in place with a baby carrier Elena had improvised on longer afternoons. The knot bit her skin.
“Ma’am… I can’t move. It’s dangerous,” she whispered
“What’s dangerous is disobedience,” Catherine replied, bringing her made-up face close enough for Elena to smell the thick, floral, almost acidic perfume. “You will stay here. You will feed them, soothe them, bleed for them if necessary. Forget your pathetic son. He will die, and you will still be here, cradling mine.”
The words fell like lead. The door slammed shut, the sound rattling in the frame. The minutes dragged on, the clocks, enemies. Elena hummed a tiny lullaby, the one her mother used to sing in a small tin-roofed room when the rain made holes in the roof. She hummed until her voice was a thread.
“Sleep now, my angels… Mama is here… always here…”
His eyelids grew heavy, a weight that wasn’t sleep, but an old weariness. Then he heard the main lock, the murmur of leather and wheels, the briefcase hitting the console in the entryway. Firm footsteps, both familiar and strange, echoed across the marble floor.
