Vanessa sighed theatrically. “If you had rested less and moved more, maybe you would not feel this way.”
Eleanor lowered her eyes. She had learned that eye contact only invited more words, sharper ones. She was not a guest here, not really, despite what Vanessa called her when it suited her. She was tolerated. She was useful. And usefulness came with conditions.
“You live here without paying anything,” Vanessa continued. “The least you can do is help. The housekeeper does her job, but you are family. You should contribute.”
Family. The word sat heavy in Eleanor’s chest.
She thought of the years when her son, Daniel, was still young, when she worked long hours sewing clothes for neighbors, when she skipped meals so he could have more, when she told herself that exhaustion was temporary and love was permanent. She had never imagined that love could become leverage.
“I am trying,” Eleanor said softly. “I just need a moment.”
Vanessa stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor. She reached out and grabbed Eleanor’s arm, pulling with sudden force.
“Then try harder,” she snapped.