Elizabeth’s heels clicked confidently across the marble as she half-carried Edmund, drunk and swaying, into the house. His tie hung loose, lips pink from too much wine. Eyes bleary, glazed.
“Oh, Doris,” Elizabeth said with a smirk, spotting me standing by the staircase like a ghost. “Didn’t think you’d be awake.”
She steered Edmund toward the hall, her arm looped through his like a bride on her wedding day. “Lester and the twins are staying at my penthouse. Too tired to come back. But Edmund… well, he can’t sleep in strange beds. Poor thing.”
A lie.
I knew it.
She came here only to shove the truth down my throat.
“I told him not to worry,” she continued sweetly. “I’d bring him home. Take care of him. It’s what family does, right?”
Then she reached into her tote and tossed a plastic container at my feet. It bounced once, landed near the rug.
“Leftovers,” she said. “Go eat, sister-in-law. You look like a sickly little stick. You should really take better care of yourself. Bet you weight like 30kls."
I didn’t move.
My fingers curled into fists at my side.