Valeria slammed her book shut instantly.

Sofia ducked her head, shrinking backward into herself.

And then Chloe did the thing that made me grip the arms of the chair until my knuckles went white.

She stepped forward, and she ripped the stuffed rabbit right out of my six-year-old daughter’s hands, and tossed it carelessly onto a high shelf, far out of Sofia’s reach.

“I’m sick of repeating myself,” Chloe said.

“When your father isn’t here, what I say goes in this house.”