His measly paycheck couldn't even cover Blanche's snacks for a month.
"Honey, you can't be serious..."
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
I grabbed my purse and headed for the stairs.
"Oh, and tell Blanche to delete that post."
"Otherwise, I'd be happy to remind her what her life was like back at the family home."
At the foot of the stairs, it suddenly hit me—I hadn't seen my daughter since I got back from my business trip.
"By the way, where's Irene?"
Blanche's crying stopped dead.
Vincent's eyes darted away.
"Oh, Irene? She's in her room doing homework."
"The kid's been kind of withdrawn lately. Doesn't talk much."
My stomach dropped. Something was wrong.
Irene had always been cheerful. Why would she suddenly become withdrawn?
I ignored Vincent trying to stop me and rushed toward Irene's room.
The moment I pushed open the door, my world collapsed.
The room was dark, the air heavy and suffocating.
Irene Pruitt was curled up in the shadowy corner of her bed, like a frightened animal.
At the sound of the door, she flinched violently, instinctively throwing her arms over her head.
"Don't hit me... I'm sorry... I'll go wash the clothes right now..."