Chapter 5 - The Aftermath of the Blow
When I fell, the sound of breaking glass echoing in my ears, I heard one single, sharp gasp. Maybe it came from the horrified caterer peeking through the kitchen door. Maybe it was from my elderly neighbor, Mrs. Bell, who sat near the end of the table.
But the wealthy, powerful people seated closest to the violence did absolutely nothing.
Natalie stared down at me, her chest heaving, her gold dress shimmering under the chandelier light.
For a terrifying, clarifying moment, she looked exactly like a stranger wearing my granddaughter’s face. The darkness in her eyes was profound and absolute.
And lying there on the hardwood floor, tasting the warm copper of my own blood, I finally understood something infinitely worse than the physical pain radiating from my jaw.
The sweet, innocent child I had raised was completely gone.
Or perhaps she had been gone for years, and I had simply been fiercely, foolishly loving a memory that no longer existed.
"Get up, Beatrice," Graham said lazily, finally breaking the silence. He didn't offer a hand. He just swirled his bourbon. "You're making a scene at your own party."
I didn't ask for help. I didn't cry.
I slowly pushed myself up off the floor, using the mahogany sideboard for leverage. I ignored the blood dripping onto my ivory blouse. I ignored the stinging in my split lip.
I looked around the table, meeting the eyes of every single person who had watched a seventy-one-year-old woman get assaulted and chosen to remain silent. I memorized their faces.
"The dinner is over," I announced, my voice remarkably steady despite the chaotic adrenaline flooding my veins. "Get out of my house. All of you."
Natalie scoffed, crossing her arms defensively. "You can't kick us out. We haven't even had the cake yet."
"I said," I repeated, my voice dropping to a low, lethal register that made even Graham flinch, "Get out of my house."
They left quickly after that, shuffling out the front door like scolded children, murmuring embarrassed excuses. Natalie was the last to leave.
She paused at the door, looking back at me with a mixture of defiance and a strange, desperate hunger.
"I'll see you in the boardroom on Monday, Grandma," she threatened smoothly. "Have your desk cleared out."
May you like
The heavy oak door slammed shut. I was finally alone.
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