The silence didn't last long.
I was still trying to wrap my mind around the whirlwind of everything—Carl's tenderness, Jake's strange expression, the doctor's check-up—when I heard the sharp click of heels.
She was back.
Anne.
She walked in like a storm with lipstick. Her hands were stiff at her sides, her posture rigid, her face stretched tight with a fury she hadn't yet named out loud. And I knew—she wasn't satisfied with the passive-aggressive exchange earlier. She wanted more. She wanted blood.
"I didn't know you were this strong," she said in that icy tone that made even the walls of the house seem to tense.
I sat up slowly, careful of the pulsing throb in my head. "I just had to defend myself."
Her eyes narrowed like knives. "You're a bïtch," she said.
I blinked.
Did I hear her right?
"Ma?"
"I said—you're a bïtch!" she snapped again, louder this time, like she was spitting the word out with venom.
My brows lifted. I scoffed, half in disbelief, half in restraint. "Why? Why am I a bïtch?"
She crossed her arms. "Because I know your game. You're a gold-dïgger. A scheming, manipulative little maid trying to weasel her way into a life she doesn't deserve."
I clenched the bedsheets, resisting every urge in my body to leap from the bed and slap the syllables off her mouth. I was never good at verbal battles. Words failed me. My strength was in movement, in reaction. But something deeper held me back.
"I won't take insults from you anymore, ma'am."
She threw her head back and laughed. A cold, joyless sound.
"Like you have a choice?" Her tone was mocking. "You think you're some kind of victim? You play this innocent act—quiet, delicate, humble. But I see through you. You think men don't see through you too? You bat your lashes, pretend you don't know you're turning heads. You're dangerous."
"You're delusional," I said, voice steady, rising from the bed even as pain pulsed behind my temples.
"Are you denying it? You think I didn't notice the way you were drooling over Carl? You want to seduce him like you tried with my brother. Maybe you even planned the attack last night just to gain sympathy."
My head jerked slightly. "What?"
"Don't pretend to be shocked. I wouldn't put it past a manipulative little slut like you to stage a drama so Carl would come running to play hero."
I felt heat crawl up my neck. My vision was blurring again—but not from pain. From anger.
"You think I planned getting nearly beaten unconscious?"
"Anything for attention," she snapped. "You knew Jake liked you, but you weren't satisfied. You needed the superior one. Carl.
You even stooped so low as to flirt with him under my roof—"
"Wait," I cut her off. "Your roof?"
She paused.
"Oh, don't tell me you're into him," I said, almost laughing now. "You think Carl wants you?"
That was it.
I saw her pupils dilate. Her lips trembled. Rage boiled behind her lashes.
"You're jealous," I said, unable to stop myself. "You're jealous that for once, someone didn't see you. That a man walked into this house and looked right past your money, your hair extensions, your designer heels—and saw me."
"You little whöre!" she screeched.
"Old bïtch," I shot back. "At least I'm not trying to seduce a younger man with wine and whispers."
The slap came fast, sharp, and unexpected.
But it didn't sting.
What came next did.
She grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked hard, her face twisted in fury. "You've grown wings, haven't you?! You forget you're nothing but a glorified maid! You think your hips and your smile make you worthy of someone like him? Someone like Carl?! He's mine!"
I grunted, my headache worsening with each pull of her fingers in my scalp. "Let go of me, Annie. Don't make me hurt you."
"You'll regret the day you ever walked into this house!" she screamed, yanking harder.
I'd had enough.
I swung my hand fast and hard across her face. The slap echoed like a thunderclap. Her head whipped sideways, and her body staggered back two steps. She held her cheek in shock.
"How dare you…" she whispered, almost trembling.
"You started it," I said, breath heavy. "I'm done being your punching bag. I quit!"
I walked to my wardrobe, grabbing the nearest duffel bag. My hands shook as I yanked open drawers and shoved clothes in. The adrenaline was making my chest tighten.
"You're not going anywhere, bïtch!" she screamed from behind me. "You must finish what you started!"
She lunged forward, gripping my wrist tightly. Her nails dug in.
"Let me go!" I shouted, pulling away. "Annie, let me go!"
She didn't.
She slapped me again.
Twice.
Fists now, pounding against my back, shoulders, arms. I tried to block her but she was hitting like a deranged banshee. Screaming nonsense.
"You little snake! You tramp! You low-class slut!"
I turned and pushed her—just to get her off me.
But she tripped.
She stumbled backwards over the edge of the carpet and went down.
Hard.
Her skull cracked against the floor tiles like glass shattering.
Then silence.
"Anne?" I said, suddenly frozen.
She didn't move.
Blood.
It trickled slowly beneath her hair, thick and dark, spreading like ink on paper.
"Annie?" I gasped, dropping to my knees beside her. "No, no, no—wake up. Wake up!"
My fingers searched for a pulse on her neck, her wrist, anywhere. My own pulse was racing too fast to tell if I was feeling anything at all.
"Oh God," I whimpered. "Please don't be dead. Please don't do this to me."
Tears blurred my vision
"Mrs. Anne, come on. Get up. Scream at me again. Call me names. But don't do this!"
Still nothing.
I shook her once—twice.
Her head rolled loosely to the side.
I felt the first sob rise in my chest, then the second. They poured out, heavy, painful, ragged.
"I didn't mean to—please, don't die—don't die…"
I buried my face in my hands, shaking uncontrollably, surrounded by blood, guilt, and fear.
I was strong.
But right now, I was broken.