Chapter 10
My first concrete realization of Victoria’s profound cruelty came the following Saturday afternoon. I had returned from a morning golf meeting earlier than expected, walking quietly into the house through the side door. I didn't announce my presence. The house was completely silent, save for the faint sound of something being dragged across the floor upstairs. I climbed the grand staircase, my footsteps muffled by the thick carpet, and followed the noise to the hallway outside Lily’s bedroom. The door was slightly ajar. I peered through the narrow crack and felt my blood turn entirely to ice. Victoria was standing in the center of the room, holding a large, silver-framed photograph. It was the last family portrait we had taken before my first wife, Elena, passed away. It was Lily’s most prized possession, a beautiful memory of her biological mother that she kept meticulously dusted on her nightstand.
"I told you I wanted this room completely redecorated, Lily," Victoria's voice was low, laced with a venomous contempt I had never heard her use before. "This morbid obsession with the past is stunting your emotional growth. It is incredibly unhealthy."
Lily was sitting on the edge of her bed, her head bowed in submission, her small hands gripping the fabric of her jeans. "Please, Victoria. It's the only picture I have of her smiling like that. Just let me keep it in my drawer. I won't display it."
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"This is my house now," Victoria hissed, tossing the silver frame carelessly into a black garbage bag resting on the floor. The sound of the glass shattering upon impact echoed like a gunshot in my ears. "And in my house, we look forward. I am your mother now, and I expect you to start showing some goddamn respect and gratitude for everything I do for you."
Lily flinched, pulling her knees to her chest. She didn't cry. She had clearly learned that crying only made it worse. I stood paralyzed in the hallway, completely sickened by my own blindness.
