Confused, he didn’t go through the front door. Instead, he walked quietly along the side of the house and peered through the small laundry room window.
What he saw shattered him.
Evelyn was on her knees, scrubbing clothes by hand. She wore a filthy apron stained with chemicals. Her hands were raw, cracked, bleeding. She looked thinner, older—like the life had been drained from her in just months. At that moment, Ryan walked in, dressed sharply, holding a glass of whiskey. Without hesitation, he kicked over the bucket in front of her, splashing dirty water across her face.
“I told you I needed those shirts ready!” Ryan snapped. “You’re useless. If you don’t hurry up, you won’t be eating tonight.”
Arthur’s world collapsed.
A second later, he burst through the door.
“Ryan!” he roared, stepping forward, fists clenched. “What are you doing? That’s your mother!”
Ryan jumped back, startled, then quickly straightened. “Dad? You shouldn’t be here,” he said coldly. “This is my house. You can’t just show up.”
“Your house?” Arthur’s voice shook with rage. “I came for my wife. How dare you treat her like this?”