Thinking of that, nausea rose in my stomach. I shoved Ethan away, refusing to hug him like before.
The next morning, barking woke me.
I went downstairs and found the side room in chaos.
The table where I had set memorial photos and candles for my parents was overturned.
Their photos were tossed on the floor, trampled with dirty footprints.
Offerings scattered everywhere, while Chloe’s dog gnawed at them.
My blood froze.
All reason vanished.
Like a madwoman, I grabbed a vase and hurled it at the dog.
The porcelain shattered. The dog yelped in pain.
Chloe’s face instantly changed.
She rushed over, scooped up the dog, tears brimming. “Sophia, can’t you even tolerate a dog?!”
I ignored her and slapped her hard across the face.
Ethan came down the stairs just in time to see it.
He rushed forward and shoved me away.
“Sophia! Enough already! How long are you going to bully her?!”
Shaking, I forced out words:
“Can’t you see? My parents’ memorial photos are lying on the floor!”
Ethan only cast a glance, then said coldly:
“That’s still no reason to hit her.”
Chloe chimed in, pitifully: