Chapter 2 — Tears at the Right Moment

Now we were trapped in the basement. Gwendolyn stood near the heavy door in a cream coat, her face arranged into heartbreak while her eyes gave away her satisfaction.

Every time Russell hesitated, she lowered her voice to sound even more fragile.

“Please don’t punish her too harshly, Russell,” she murmured. “I’m sure Heather is just hurt. I probably shouldn’t have said anything.”

I looked at her and finally understood: a woman like her never needed to raise her voice to tear a family apart. All she had to do was cry at exactly the right moment.

“Mommy didn’t do anything,” Phoebe whimpered, trembling in the corner. “I saw Aunt Gwendolyn walk into the dressing room by herself.”

Russell turned on the child with a fury that froze the air. “Don’t lie to me, Phoebe.”

“I’m not lying,” she screamed back, her small voice shaking. “You’re being mean!”

Phoebe ran toward me, but a guard grabbed her arm. She twisted free, lost her balance, and fell against the sharp corner of an antique oak table. The impact echoed through the basement.

After a terrible second of silence, she burst into tears as blood began to trickle down her forehead.

Something in me snapped.

“Phoebe!”

I don’t know how I freed my wrists — the ribbon burned my skin as I tore through it — but I reached my bleeding daughter and pulled her to my chest. Her blood stained the front of my pale dress.