The smell of food drew Emily out of her room. She sat at the table in silence, grabbing a wing.
Jason joined too.
David’s face darkened, watching his kids eat a pitiful dinner of cheap wings.
“Your mom’s getting worse! Sulking is one thing, but not cooking for her kids? What kind of mother does that? When she gets back, I’m gonna have words with her!”
His voice dripped with blame and resentment, chilling me further inside the bag.
I spun like a top every day for this family—cooking, cleaning, worrying about their health and comfort.
My devotion, invisible.
One missed meal, and I was suddenly the villain.
If he hadn’t ignored his family all these years, raised his daughter with nothing but harshness, how would Emily have become this cold and extreme?
They sat just a few feet from me, eating, complaining—without sparing the punching bag a single glance.
Soon, the wings and beers were gone.
David burped, glanced at the night outside.
“Fine, I’ll take a walk, look for your mom. What a nuisance.”
“Oh, and turn off the AC in the living room! No one’s home—it’s a waste of electricity!”
My heart clenched in terror.