Chapter 2
The silence in the room was brittle, ready to snap at the slightest provocation. Before the Father could take another step toward the exit, the crowd parted. Bethany stepped forward.
She was thirty-nine, dressed in a vibrant, patterned party blouse that highlighted her fair, rosy skin and expensive gold jewelry. Her high heels clicked sharply against the hardwood floor, a rhythmic, arrogant sound that set the Father’s teeth on edge. Unlike the Grandmother’s explosive rage or the Grandfather’s violent outbursts, Bethany wore a smirk. It was a cold, calculating expression that made the Father’s blood run icy.
"Oh, for God's sake, lower your voice," Bethany said, waving a manicured hand dismissively. She laughed, a sharp, grating sound dripping with extreme contempt. "You are making a massive scene over absolutely nothing."
The Father stared at her, his jaw locked so tight his teeth ached. "Nothing? I came to pick up my daughter and found her locked in the basement laundry room without a shoe, crying her eyes out in the dark."
Bethany rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. The gold bracelets on her wrists clinked together. "It's just a prank. We were playing hide-and-seek. She shouldn't be so fragile."
"Hide-and-seek?" the Father repeated, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. He felt Rosie flinch violently at the sound of Bethany’s voice. The little girl’s fingers tightened their death-grip on his collar.
"Yes, hide-and-seek," Bethany sighed, as if explaining a simple concept to a difficult child. "You coddle her too much. She tripped, she got scared, and now she's throwing a tantrum. It’s exactly why she needs to spend more time with us, so she can toughen up. You’re turning her into a weak little victim."
The gaslighting was staggering. The Father looked around the room. The guests—his own blood relatives—were nodding along, murmuring their agreement with Bethany. The brightly lit room, the elegant food, the cheerful attire; it was all a grotesque stage play designed to cover up the rot beneath the surface.
"She's four years old, Bethany," the Father said, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly quiet register. "She isn't supposed to be 'tough'. She is supposed to be safe."
"She is safe!" the Grandmother interrupted, stepping up to stand beside her daughter. "This is her family! How dare you imply we would ever let anything happen to her?"
The Father felt a sickening twist in his gut. The sheer audacity of their lies was breathtaking. He looked down at the top of Rosie's head, feeling the rapid, panicked beating of her tiny heart against his chest. He knew what he had seen. He knew what he had found.
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"You think this is a joke?" the Father asked, his eyes locking onto Bethany’s smirking face. "You think I'm just going to walk away and pretend this didn't happen?"
"I think you're going to put her down, apologize to your father, and get a grip," Bethany sneered. "Before you ruin the whole evening."
