"She threw her mother-in-law’s blanket into the dog house and told her that was her bed now, while her own son stood in the doorway crying too quietly to defend her."
CHAPTER 1
Rebecca threw the folded blanket into the dog house like she was tossing out trash.
The pillow followed.
It hit the wooden floor with a soft, pathetic thump that somehow sounded louder than shouting.
Eleanor Whitmore stood in the middle of the backyard in her worn gray cardigan, one hand still half-raised from where Rebecca had dragged her across the grass. The night air was cold enough to make her fingers tremble, but she did not pull them into her sleeves.
She only stared at the blanket.
Then at the dog house.
Then at the back porch, where her son Thomas stood frozen in the yellow light.
Rebecca turned, her cream sweater perfect, her hair smooth, her face hard with the kind of cruelty that had learned to smile in public.
“There,” she said, pointing straight at Eleanor’s face. “That’s your bed now. My house doesn’t have room for someone who sits around all day doing nothing.”
Eleanor’s lips parted.
No sound came out.
Thomas gripped the doorframe so tightly his knuckles turned white.
His eyes were wet.
But he did not move.
Eleanor looked at him, and the hurt in her face made him lower his head before she even spoke.
“Thomas,” she whispered. “Are you really going to let her do this?”
The backyard went silent.
May you like
Rebecca did not even turn around.
“Don’t start with me,” she snapped. “You know who pays for everything in that house.”
