I knew her accusations were baseless, but what did the truth matter in this house?
Nicole, seeing her dramatics losing momentum, stormed off to her room in mock outrage, slamming the door behind her.
My husband sighed heavily, as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders and stepped out onto the balcony to smoke.
"That’s enough," he muttered, smoke curling from his lips. "Nicole is just a child. Can’t you just give her some money and let it go?"
I shot him a glare, the icy fury in my eyes unrelenting.
"Eli, how much is your salary this month?" I asked sharply. "Why don’t you hand it over to your precious sister, then?"
His face darkened instantly.
I had hit a sore spot. He knew his salary barely covered anything; it was my earnings that had propped up this household for years. Yet, here he was, chastising me while protecting Nicole.
We stood there in the living room, glaring at one another, the tension suffocating. Neither of us was willing to back down.
From upstairs, a sudden, shrill cry shattered the silence. "Ah, Nicole! What will happen to your mother if you die?!"
I frowned, the sharpness of her mother’s voice jarring me from my thoughts. What now?