The reaction was instantaneous. Patricia turned to face her with such obvious hatred that you gripped the edge of the console tightly. “You don’t correct me here,” she hissed. “You’re paid to clean counters, not to give your opinion.”
“I get paid to protect them when you’re cruel,” Daniela said.
That’s when the entire scene inside the monitor shattered.
Patricia turned to the girls. “What did you say?” Daniela lifted her chin, and for a terrible instant, you saw your late wife reflected in her so clearly it hurt your chest. “I said you’re mean when Dad’s gone,” she repeated. “And that you lie to him.” Martina jumped off the stool and ran to Rosa, clutching her apron with both hands like children cling to the last safe object in a storm.
Patricia’s face changed.
He wasn’t red with anger. He was pale with shame. It was then that you knew, with terrible precision, that Patricia wasn’t afraid of losing your affection. She was afraid of losing her place in history. She had built her future on being indispensable in a grieving household, and these girls, these little witnesses with big eyes and good memories, were dangerous because children often spoke the truth before they understood how much the adults hated it.
—Get in —Patricia said.
Neither of them moved.
Rosa tried again. “Let me take them,” she said. “Please.”
Patricia’s hand extended so quickly you barely saw it. It didn’t hit Rosa hard enough to knock her to the ground, but the slap echoed in the room with the intimate violence of something that had happened before. Martina screamed. Daniela instinctively stepped between them, shoulders back, and you were already on your feet before you even reacted.
You didn’t remember getting up from the chair.
Leave a Comment