Her gaze drifted to Liam's lap, voice dropping to a stage whisper loud enough for the entire room.
"After all, everyone knows about Liam's... condition."
"Insisting the child is a Farley is just twisting the knife in Liam's wound, isn't it?"
She really knew how to drive the blade in deep.
My son laughed.
Crisp. Cold. Unnervingly adult.
He unwrapped a piece of gum, chewed twice, and regarded Evelyn with clinical detachment.
"Auntie, your perfume is strong. It smells like the cheap toilet cleaner we use at home."
Evelyn's face stiffened, her tears freezing mid-wobble.
Liam shot to his feet and swung his hand, aiming a slap at the child's face.
"You uncultured little mongrel! You think you're worthy to speak to her?"
The slap cut through the air.
I grabbed the phone off the table and smashed it into the back of his hand.
*Bang!*
The screen shattered against bone. His hand swelled instantly, flushing an angry red.
He hissed, stumbling back, cradling his fingers. "Nora! You dare hit me for this bastard?"
I pulled the child behind me, gaze unyielding.
"Watch your mouth, Liam. Whether this child is a bastard or not—don't you know the truth in your heart?"
Liam laughed.
A sound bordering on madness.