“She’s lying, Eric,” I said softly. “She lied about the room. Richard lied about the roof. And now they’re using your love and your fear to manipulate you into keeping them here.

They’re using your trauma against you.”

Eric looked from me, to the court order, to his mother — now sitting up on the floor, dusting off her slacks, looking more annoyed than terminal.

The silence in the kitchen was absolute. The refrigerator hummed.

“I froze,” Eric whispered.

“Yes,” I said.