My Husband and My Mother Poisoned Us and Put Us in the Ground. They Forgot One Thing: I Woke Up First
I’ll handle the serving myself.”
“Mom, the staff is already paid for,” I’d protested.
“I don’t care about the money.” She had cut me off without a blink.
“I care about privacy, and you will respect my wish.”
And I had.
Of course I had.
She was my mother, and I was thirty-four years old and still, somewhere deep down, the girl who did what Beatrice Fairchild said.
I did not think, why does a birthday party in a fenced backyard require the removal of every witness who is not family? I did not ask the question, because the answer was unthinkable, and the unthinkable is precisely the thing a loving daughter is trained never to think.
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