Brooke gasped and shrank back into the chair.

Lorraine looked at the mess, then back at Brooke, with terrifying satisfaction. “Look what you made me do,” she said, mock pity dripping from every word. “So clumsy. So frantic. Just utterly useless.”

Jonah was screaming now. Lorraine reached into the bassinet, scooped him up, and held him against her hip, away from Brooke’s outstretched, trembling hands.

“Give him to me! Please, Lorraine, he needs to eat!” Brooke was hyperventilating, tears streaming down her pale face.

“Jonah’s crying because he can sense his mother is a weak, incompetent mess,” Lorraine hissed, pointing at the shattered glass and the soaked pills.

“You want your child? Get on your hands and knees and clean up this embarrassment of a floor. Only then will I let you hold him.”