Chapter 2
I moved Maren and Sienna into my private study.
Maren tried to walk.
I made her sit.
“You’re pregnant.”
“I can still walk.”
“I know.”
That sounded sharper than I intended.
I softened my voice.
“Sit because you’re exhausted, not because I think you’re helpless.”
She looked at me differently.
Then she sat.
Sienna climbed beside her and immediately reached for her mother’s hands.
“Does it hurt?”
“A little.”
That was a lie.
The skin was inflamed almost to the wrists.
I called our physician.
Maren protested.
I ignored the protest, not the woman.
When the doctor arrived, he examined her hands and then looked at me.
“How long has she been doing prolonged kitchen work?”
I looked at Maren.
She stared down.
“About three months.”
Three months.
My mother had been humiliating my pregnant wife for an entire trimester.
I sat across from her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
The moment I said it, I regretted it.
Maren looked up.
“Because the first time I tried, Agatha told me you already knew.”
My breathing slowed.
“What?”
“She said you wanted me to learn discipline.”
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it sounded exactly like something my mother would invent and exactly unlike anything I would ever ask of my wife.
“What else?”
Maren hesitated.
“She said you were ashamed I had become soft after getting pregnant.”
My jaw tightened.
“And the food?”
Her expression changed.
Sienna suddenly whispered:
“Mommy eats after Grandma rings the bell.”
I looked at her.
“What bell?”
My daughter pointed toward the hallway.
“There’s a little silver one.”
May you like
Maren closed her eyes.
And another piece of the house became ugly.
