Chapter 2: The Architect of Cruelty
“Chloe,” I said, not looking away from my mother. “Take Eliza upstairs. Stay with her.”
Eliza recoiled when my mother reached for her.
Recoiled.
That moment hit harder than anything else.
She was afraid of my mother.
Once they were gone, I turned.
“I want the truth.”
Margaret crossed her arms. “Your wife is unstable.”
I laughed.
It sounded like something breaking.
“No,” I said. “I came home to find my pregnant wife scrubbing her skin raw while you watched.”
“She needed discipline.”
Then I looked at my mother.
And everything clicked.
“You hired her.”
Silence.
“You pushed for her. You insisted.”
My mother stiffened. “You’re being dramatic.”
Memories flooded in.
Eliza apologizing constantly.
Flinching.
Asking if I’d leave her.
I had missed everything.
“She’s been whispering lies,” my mother snapped. “Girls like her cling. Manipulate.”
I stared at her.
And felt nothing.
“Get out.”
She blinked.
“You heard me.”
“This is my son’s house.”
“No,” I said. “This is my wife’s home.”
Margaret tried one last time.
“If I leave, she’ll spiral.”
That arrogance.
That control.
I walked to the door and opened it.
“Sixty seconds. Or I call the police.”
That did it.
She left.
My mother stayed.
Crying.