I round on her, relieved to have a safer target. "I will not lay a hand on my mother, but you old hag, it's a different story."
Sara lifts her chin, defiant even bound and tied. "Who are you calling a hag, you wastrel?"
That word, wastrel. It's the one that always cuts the deepest.
I have endured these women's endless criticism, the snide remarks, the disappointed sighs, for decades. I can't wait a moment longer. I feel a volcanic burst of energy and get onto my feet to beat her, to finally show them what I am truly capable of.
"Stop!" Amelia's voice cracks like a whip. It's not a plea... it's an order, backed by deadly intent. She says, "Touch her and you will regret it."
I freeze inches from Sara. I meet my mother's gaze. The look in her bloodshot eyes is a promise of violence I haven't seen since childhood. I grit my teeth, my body trembling with frustrated, burning fury.
