If Cassandra left a single coffee mug in the sink, the older woman would create a massive scene. If Cassandra rested on the sofa because her ankles were swollen, Edith would claim that women in her day worked until the moment they went into labor.
“My son is out there breaking his back while you are here just lounging around,” Edith snapped one Tuesday afternoon. Cassandra was simply trying to heat up some soup for her lunch.
“I am making something to eat, Mrs. Higgins,” Cassandra replied softly.
“Food does not cook itself, and being pregnant does not make you the queen of this kitchen,” Edith retorted.
Cassandra swallowed her pride and looked away. She knew that responding would only light a fuse, but she also realized that silence was no longer protecting her.
Every day, the older woman pushed a little harder as if she were trying to see exactly when Cassandra would finally break. Edith’s most intrusive habit began about a week after Wesley left town.
She started checking Cassandra’s phone whenever the younger woman went to the bathroom or took a nap. Sometimes she moved ongoing conversations, and other times she deleted incoming messages entirely.