“A daughter supports her mother,” she said, her fingers flying straight to her collar again.

“You locked my six-year-old daughter in a dark pantry on Christmas Eve,” I said.

“You did it to start a fight, and you did it so you and Caroline could file that report you’d already written.”

“She touched a silver dessert fork before grace was said,” my mother said flatly.

“You wanted me declared unfit so you could petition for legal control over my money,” I said.

“You wanted total obedience and free access to my credit union account to cover your house debt.”