Every day she demanded some new dish, forcing me to drive for hours to get it, only to toss it away with a sneer:
“It’s not fresh.”
One day, while I was serving seafood soup, Chloe rushed forward and bumped into me. The soup spilled, scalding my arm with blistering burns.
Her wrist suffered only a tiny red mark, yet she wailed that she had harmed the baby, crying of stomach pain.
Andrew panicked, fussing over her, even feeding her like a child.
Chloe sobbed:
“It’s all my sister’s fault. If the baby had been hurt, I wouldn’t want to live.”
“She can bully me however she wants, but the baby is innocent.”
Andrew’s face darkened, terrifying to behold.
“Rachel, I told you to take care of Chloe. How dare you defy me?”
“So that’s it. You’ve always hated her, and now you’re too eager to please.”
“I told you—it wasn’t me. She ran into me on her own.” I laughed bitterly.
“You two—one lies, the other distorts the truth. Truly a perfect pair.”
I turned to leave. I already had enough evidence, and my arm needed treatment.
But Andrew’s cold voice stopped me:
“Did I say you could go?”
For reasons I couldn’t fathom, looking at my wounds made Andrew restless, desperate to lash out.