Mother dabbed at her lips with a napkin. “She offered.”
Clara’s fingers weakly tightened around mine.
“No,” she whispered.
My mother’s eyes hardened instantly. “She needed to learn. You spoil her. The house is filthy, the baby cries nonstop, and she thinks being tired is an excuse.”
I rose slowly.
“I’m taking them out of here.”
Mother laughed. “Don’t be absurd. This is my son’s house.”
I turned toward her, calm enough to scare even myself.
“No,” I said quietly. “It’s mine.”
Her smile faltered.
Continue on the next page:
