"Dear sister, I hear you've been crying about those three unborn babies every single day for the past three days."
"Don't you want to know where they're buried?"
My hand clenched.
These past few days had probably been Madge's way of getting back at me. She'd had the housekeepers stand outside my door, gossiping loudly about my three children's tiny bodies. About where they'd been buried.
None of them had made it into this world alive, but laying the dead to rest in hallowed ground was a tradition as old as time. I'd asked Everard countless times where their graves were. He always used my depression as an excuse, claiming he was afraid the emotional toll would be too much for me, and refused to say a word.
Madge crouched down and gripped my chin, her tone flippant and cruel.
"You want to know? Fine."
"Get on your knees and wash my feet. Do a good enough job, and I'll tell you."
My whole body trembled. My eyes burned red.
Her taunting, poisonous voice kept going.
"Those three half-formed little runts of yours? I tossed them somewhere random. If you don't kneel, you'll never find their graves for the rest of your life."