"She sat in my mom’s chair first! I only called out to her and she got so scared she fell on her own. She didn’t even bleed! I thought she was just faking it again, like always."
His words grew more and more vicious.
But no one in the room stopped him.
They just stood there, watching me with cold, judgmental expressions.
I didn’t bother explaining myself this time. I simply turned to look out the window, my face devoid of emotion.
But David spoke out and scolded.
"Nadine, the child is speaking to you! How can you ignore him like that? What kind of mother does that?"
A bitter laugh escaped my lips, "What kind of child watches his own mother get hurt and doesn’t show a shred of concern—only keeps insulting her?"
David’s frown deepened, "That’s because you’ve never been good to him. You’re always playing the victim, trying to trick him into pitying you."
Not good enough?
Tyler had been frail since birth, constantly sick. I was the one who stayed up night after night taking care of him.
I learned acupuncture and massage therapy. I spent years perfecting medicinal soups and herbal meals.
The delicate hands that once played the piano turned rough and swollen.