Chapter 6
Sunlight cut sharp, dusty stripes across the worn hardwood floor of Sarah’s living room. Clara woke early, her body aching from sleeping on the stiff armchair while the children occupied the pull-out couch. She tiptoed into the tiny kitchen, brewing a pot of strong black coffee. The silence of the morning offered a brief, fragile respite before the inevitable storm of reality returned.
Her phone buzzed violently against the countertop at 7:15 AM. The screen flashed with Michael’s name, accompanied by a string of missed calls and urgent text messages sent throughout the night. Clara stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the screen saver before she finally swiped to answer.
“Clara? Where are you? Are you alright?” Michael’s voice sounded ragged, devoid of the defensive arrogance he had worn the day before. He sounded like a man who had spent a long, sleepless night alone in a very large, very quiet house.
“I’m where I told you I would be, Michael,” Clara said evenly, sipping her black coffee. “Safe.”
“Please come home,” he pleaded, the exhaustion bleeding plainly into his tone. “Mom and I had a long talk last night. She... well, she apologized. Sort of. She admits she might have been a bit too rough, but it was an accident. Clara, you can’t blow up our family over this. We have a life together. The kids need their home.”
Clara felt a cold knot twist in her stomach. “She apologized ‘sort of’? She admits it was an accident after lying to your face and claiming Lily fell? Michael, listen to yourself. You are still making excuses for her abuse.”
“I’m not making excuses!” Michael snapped, a flash of his old defensiveness returning. “I’m trying to keep things together! You’re acting like a tyrant, refusing to compromise. Mom is sixty years old, she’s facing major spinal surgery next month, and you’re acting like she’s some kind of criminal mastermind!”
“She struck our daughter, Michael. And you care more about her upcoming surgery than your daughter’s safety,” Clara said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Do not call me again until you are ready to serve your mother with eviction papers. Until then, do not bother.”
She terminated the call before he could respond, tossing the phone onto the table face down. Sarah walked into the kitchen, holding a mug of coffee, her expression grim from having overheard the tail end of the conversation.
May you like
“He’s still making excuses,” Sarah noted accurately.
“Always will,” Clara replied, rubbing her temples. “I need to call an attorney, Sarah. Today.”
