My son ʜɪᴛ me just because the soup wasn’t seasoned with salt. The next morning, he said, “My mother-in-law is coming for lunch, cover everything up and smile!” Then he went to the office, and when he walked into his boss’s office, his face was as pale as chalk.

Back at the townhouse, I arranged plates and glasses on the dining table while my stomach churned with anxiety. Amber remained in the living room scrolling through her phone, and when I asked quietly if she had noticed the swelling on my face she replied, “It is not my place to interfere.”

At noon Amber’s mother, Barbara Mitchell, arrived wearing a tailored blazer and carrying a bakery box that smelled faintly of cinnamon. She kissed her daughter on the cheek, complimented the neatness of the house, and placed the box carefully on the counter as if preparing for a pleasant social visit.

“Where is Brandon,” Barbara asked while setting her purse down. Amber’s gaze flicked toward me briefly before I forced a small smile and said, “He had to stay late at work unexpectedly.”

Barbara’s eyes rested on my face a moment longer than politeness required, and her expression shifted subtly as she noticed the faint discoloration beneath my makeup. “Did he do that,” she asked quietly, nodding toward my cheek in a way that made the room feel painfully exposed.