I froze. It was Livia’s voice, but it carried a cruelty I had never heard before.
Following the sound, I reached the bathroom. The bleach-scented air hit me immediately. Inside, my mother, Mrs. Evelyn Carmichael, seventy-three, frail and arthritic, knelt on the cold tile. My daughters were tied to her torso with a thick scarf, their small bodies trembling as they cried. She scrubbed the toilet base, shaking from the strain and the fear that filled the room.
Juniper knelt beside her, tears streaming, hands clasped in desperate prayer. “Please, Mrs. Livia, let her rest. I will do the cleaning. Let her stand. She can barely bear her own weight.”
Livia did not look at her. She inspected her long acrylic nails with evident disdain. “She must earn her keep. A little work will do her good. She is already half useless anyway.”
Juniper’s voice cracked. “Señora, have mercy. She is your husband’s mother.”
Livia whirled around, her face contorted with anger. Her hand struck Juniper across the cheek, producing a sharp sound. Blood ran down Juniper’s temple as she fell. My mother attempted to protect her, but the weight of my daughters made her nearly collapse.