Abigail clutched her arm where it had struck the edge, her small fingers pressing into the fabric of her sleeve as if that might make the pain disappear. She blinked rapidly, trying to stop the tears from falling, because she had learned that crying only made things worse. A few steps away, three year old Benjamin sat cross legged on the floor among scattered wooden blocks, his dark eyes wide with confusion as he watched his sister shrink into herself.
“Do not just stand there staring,” Patricia continued, her voice rising. “Clean that mess up. Both of you are exactly the same. Slow, careless, and ungrateful. Your father works endlessly to give you this life, and you cannot manage one simple task.”
Outside, Michael forced his lungs to draw in air slowly. For two weeks he had been living on his own property as a hired groundskeeper, hiding in plain sight, wearing faded clothes and a false beard that made him look like a stranger to the people inside. Two long weeks of watching through windows, listening from hallways, and resisting the urge to reveal himself every time his chest tightened with anger.