Chapter 2 - Confronting Diane About Tuesday Night's Brutal Secret
The living room grew colder than the autumn air pressing against the double-paned windows.
I looked away from my trembling wife and fixed my eyes entirely on my mother.
“What happened on Tuesday night, Diane?” I asked, dropping the respectful title completely.
My mother’s face tightened into an ugly, defensive sneer as she uncrossed her legs.
“Don’t you dare use that tone with me in my own house, Ryan,” she snapped.
“It’s our house, Mother, and you’ve been living in our guest suite for three months,” I reminded her icily.
Emily kept her head down, clutching her swollen belly as if trying to protect our unborn child from the tension.
“She broke my favorite porcelain vase while trying to clean the mantle,” Diane said defensively.
“Is that supposed to justify bruises on her wrists and a dark mark near her cheek?” I shouted.
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Diane stood up tall, crossing her arms over her chest with absolute arrogance.
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