Chapter 3 - The Kitchen Confrontation
The front door clicked open, and the familiar scent of garlic and baked chicken washed over the entryway.
David didn't look up from his phone as we stepped inside, kicking off our boots in the mudroom. “You’re cutting it close, Elena. You know I have that call at seven, and we needed to go over the grocery receipts tonight.”
I didn't answer. I walked slowly down the hallway, my keys clutched tightly in my hand, and stepped into the brightly lit kitchen.
David finally glanced up, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the medical wristband still partially visible beneath my daughter’s sleeve. His expression instantly hardened into the familiar look of irritation he reserved for any disruption to his schedule.
“Where have you been? And why does she look like that?” David demanded, setting his coffee mug down hard enough to slop dark liquid over the rim. “I asked you to be back by five.”
“We were at the hospital, David,” I said. My voice was chillingly quiet, stripped of the usual defensive tone I used when trying to appease him.
David scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, brilliant. More medical bills for a stomachache? I told you last month, she’s just looking for an excuse to skip track practice and get out of chores. You coddle her too much, Elena, and now you’re wasting money we don't have on—'”
“Shut up,” I whispered.
May you like
The two words dropped into the kitchen like a lead weight. David blinked, genuinely stunned, his mouth parting in disbelief. “Excuse me?”
“I said, shut your mouth,” I repeated, stepping closer to the kitchen island, locking my eyes onto his. “We weren't there for a stomachache. We were there because five weeks ago, you brought her in for severe abdominal pain, the doctors told you she needed urgent follow-up imaging, and you lied to her. You told her nothing was wrong, and you swore her to secrecy so you wouldn't have to deal with the co-pay.”
