When I tried to dodge, the movement tore at my stitches. Waves of searing pain ripped through my lower abdomen.
Charity looked down at me, her voice dripping with acid and contempt.
"I only slapped you twice out of respect for Brendan. Sister-in-law, I suggest you remember this lesson."
My face had gone chalk-white. Through the agony, I turned to look at Brendan, who stood beside her without lifting a finger.
He'd been right next to Charity the whole time. Close enough to stop her.
Unless he never intended to.
Sure enough, after a brief moment of eye contact, Brendan's gaze drifted away, unbothered.
"Charity was right to hit you."
"You went too far, Naomi."
My heart plummeted.
Too far?
Compared to what he and Charity had said while I lay unconscious and vulnerable—this didn't even come close to a fraction of it.
I remembered drifting in and out of sleep, hearing Brendan discuss my most private moments with an outsider. That careless, dismissive tone.
And my daughter—the child I'd nearly died bringing into this world—when she cried, he hadn't even glanced her way.
His claim that he'd held her later? I didn't believe a single word.
"Brendan, I asked you a question. Answer me."