Your mother blinks, offended by the question itself. “Excuse me?”
You keep your eyes on her. “What happened here?”
Lily inhales sharply, as if bracing for impact. Denise follows the sound and smiles without warmth. “Your wife is overwhelmed again. Noah was crying. I stepped in. She started crying too, as usual, and now apparently I’m the villain because I suggested she pull herself together before you got home.”
You hear each word, but they no longer work on you the way they once did. That is the strange thing about seeing cruelty with your own eyes. It strips manipulation of its perfume. Suddenly it just smells rotten.
“You grabbed her hair,” you say.
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