The meat was steaming.
The house smelled of wine, rosemary, and fear.
Domestic violence doesn’t always enter a room with shouts.
Sometimes it sits at the head of the table, receives the salt, smiles at the guests, and expects everyone to call control “discipline.”
I felt the rage rise in my throat.
For a second, I imagined lifting Miriam’s glass and smashing it on the floor.
I imagined taking my daughter by the hand and leading her out of that house without saying a word.
I imagined standing in front of Garrick and speaking to him in the same voice I’d used so many times to look an accused person in the eye.
But my daughter was beside me.
And her safety mattered more than my relief.
So I breathed.
I smiled.
“Can I sit next to my daughter?”
Garrick looked at me as if the request amused him.
“It’s your family funeral.”
Sienna shuddered.
It wasn’t much.
Just a brief contraction
