Then Blake's voice piped up from the background, sharp and piercing.
"Dad, tell Mom not to get mangoes! Auntie Vera is allergic."
The boy's childish voice stabbed straight through me.
"Mom is way too vicious. She did it on purpose to make Auntie Vera sick just so she'd be hospitalized."
Blake's voice shrilled through the phone speaker, dripping with a malice no child should possess.
"She's just mad about the parent-child activity. I don't want such a petty mom. I want Auntie Vera to be my mother!"
Harrison didn't hesitate. He accepted our son's twisted narrative as gospel, his voice dropping to a temperature that could freeze marrow.
"Sara, how old are you? You're a grown woman throwing tantrums like a toddler. What's the point?"
His lecture continued, sharp and condescending. "Blake is right. You really should learn from Vera—learn to be broad-minded instead of so self-absorbed."
I closed my eyes. Hot tears leaked out, sliding down my cheeks and dripping onto the fresh wound on my foot. The salt stung raw skin—a sharp, piercing reminder of reality.
Harrison didn't give me a chance to speak. He didn't want explanations; he wanted a target.