I paused. My chest rose and fell, aching, but I didn’t argue. Arguing was useless. Fighting was pointless. So I nodded and went to do as I was told.
I folded shirts, pressed trousers, and tucked away shoes into suitcases. The rhythm of it almost numbed my thoughts. But Coreen kept darting around me, laughing as she snatched folded clothes and tossed them on the floor.
“Stop that, Coreen,” I said softly.
She ignored me. “So sad you’re gonna be here alone,” she chirped. “Aunt Beatrice said you’re bad. That’s why no one wants you to come.”
The words sliced through me sharper than Oliver’s insults ever had. Even my granddaughter had been poisoned against me. Beatrice’s voice lived in her head, shaping her little heart into one that hated me.
Still, I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t scold. I just kept folding. My hands shook, my tears nearly blinding me, but I kept folding.
Then my gaze drifted to the old cabinet in the corner. Something inside me stirred, and I opened it.
My chest tightened as a memory clawed its way back.