The Bag That Hits Back
“So, Tommy,” she purred, dripping venomous pride. “Did you put her in her proper place?”
Tom swallowed an invisible stone, eyes darting to me in terror. I played my part — flinching visibly, gripping the towel until my knuckles blanched. Her smile widened into a predatory grin.
She tossed her coat over the armchair and took the sofa like a conquering monarch.
“Water.” She snapped her fingers.
I scurried to the kitchen and brought her a glass with both hands, eyes on the floorboards. “Here, Mom.”
She didn’t drink it. She slammed it onto the table.