Willamina appeared twenty minutes late, exactly as usual, and claimed the chair at the head of the table without asking. Grantham let it happen inside our home, during our anniversary dinner, without looking at me once.

I ignored it. I always ignored it.

When the meal was ready, I served the children first, moving quickly so their food would not go cold. Then I filled my own plate and sat down. I had barely raised my fork when Willamina’s open palm crossed the table and struck my cheek.

For a moment my ears rang and the edges of the room went hazy.

“You seem to have forgotten your place in this family,” she said.

Beatatrix dropped her fork against her plate. Callahan froze with a bite of food halfway to his mouth. The room went silent except for the pounding pulse behind my eyes.