Chapter 2 - Cold Eyes and Burning Eggs
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I scooped Emma up against my chest, supporting her neck with one hand because her head kept falling loosely backward.
I looked up at my sister, my blood boiling with a rage I had never felt in my entire life.
"What did you do?!" I yelled, my voice cracking with sheer horror. "What did you do to her?!"
Vanessa didn't flinch. She simply pointed a long, manicured finger toward the chair with the purple cushion—Lily’s designated seat.
"She took Lily’s chair," Vanessa said coldly, her tone entirely devoid of remorse. "She sat down and started eating Lily’s breakfast."
I stared at her, unable to process the sheer insanity of her response.
"She’s four years old!" I shouted. "She’s a baby!"
"She still needs boundaries," Vanessa replied flatly, crossing her arms tighter. "You don't let a child take what belongs to someone else. Lily was crying."
I took a furious step toward Vanessa, every instinct in my body screaming at me to tear her apart. But before I could reach her, my mother stepped directly between us, holding her hands up to push me back.
"Stop shouting, Rachel!" my mother snapped, her voice stern and demanding. "Look at what you're doing! You're making a scene!"
"Making a scene?!" I gasped, holding my unconscious daughter tighter against my chest. "She threw a hot skillet at my child's head!"
My mother frowned, looking around the kitchen as if checking whether the neighbors could hear us.
"Take her somewhere quiet," my mother commanded, waving her hand dismissively toward the front door. "Everyone is upset enough already. Take her upstairs or outside. She's disturbing everyone's mood!"
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Behind her, my father walked silently across the kitchen. He picked up Emma’s fallen plastic cup, tossed it into the sink, and grabbed a paper towel to wipe up the orange juice.
He never once looked at his granddaughter lying unconscious in my arms.
