Silence filled the foyer.
My mother adjusted the sleeve of Sophia’s robe.
“You don’t understand the context.”
Naomi’s voice was cold.
“Context does not turn assault into parenting.”
My mother looked at me.
“You were not here. She was lazy. She slept while dishes piled up. She cried all day. She let the baby control the house. I was trying to keep order.”
There it was.
Not a confession.
A justification.
The kind people make when they think cruelty is discipline with better posture.
Audrey found her voice.
“She wanted everything handed to her. Free house. Free money. Your benefits. Your pity.”
Naomi opened the folder.
“Speaking of money.”
Audrey’s eyes dropped to the papers.
Naomi placed three bank statements on the entry table.
“Thirty-eight thousand dollars withdrawn from the household emergency account over four months. Transfers authorized with Sophia Hayes’s digital signature.”
My mother looked bored again, but her left hand moved.
