Chapter 7 - Playing the Victim
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For the next two days, I meticulously played the pathetic, broken woman they so desperately wanted me to be.
I found a silk floral scarf in my closet and tied it tightly over my head to hide the ruined, jagged mess of my hair. I kept my shoulders slumped, my eyes downcast, and my voice no louder than a fragile whisper.
I walked into the kitchen on Wednesday morning and quietly began cooking breakfast, just as I always did. I fried the bacon perfectly crisp, scrambled the eggs, and poured their coffee. I served them like a terrified maid in my own home.
Vanessa grew bolder with every passing hour. She strutted around the kitchen in her silk robe, loudly complaining about the lack of foam on her latte, intentionally bumping into me as she walked past the stove. I answered her petty insults with complete silence, biting the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper.
“Oh, look at her, Michael,” Vanessa sneered, taking a bite of toast. “The scarf is a good look. Hides the crazy. You should wear that permanently.”
Michael didn't even look up from his phone. “Just leave her alone, Ness. She gets the point.”
As I wiped down the granite countertops, Vanessa reached into her designer tote bag and pulled out a thick manila folder. She slammed it down onto the kitchen island with a loud, authoritative smack, right next to my cleaning rag.
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“Sign these,” she ordered, her tone brooking no argument. “It’s just permission for Michael to manage the property and handle the basic taxes. Since your mind is clearly slipping, it’s best for everyone.”
I stared at the folder, my heart beating a steady, calculated rhythm. The trap had been set exactly as they planned. I just needed to walk into it, perfectly in character.
