The dining room of the Beverly Drive mansion smelled of beeswax and roast lemon.

Rain tapped against the tall arched windows, blurring the streetlights of Highland Park.

It was a beautiful house, leased for six thousand dollars a month through an anonymous holding company.

Graham believed his family’s prestige kept us here.

He did not know that the holding company belonged to me.

My mother-in-law, Gloria Ralston, sat at the head of the mahogany table.

She adjusted her pearls, her manicured fingers tapping against the silver salad fork.

“The chicken is dry, Jocelyn,” Gloria said, her voice sharp and thin.

“I cooked it exactly to the temperature you requested, Gloria,” I said.

I kept my hands flat on my lap under the table.

Beside me, my seven-year-old daughter, Hazel, reached for her water glass.

Her little sister, Ruby, who was five, sat quietly, her small legs dangling from the oversized velvet chair.

Graham sat opposite me, staring at his reflection in the polished soup spoon.

He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored shirt, a shirt paid for by my secret commercial accounts.

His gold watch, a counterfeit he bought to look successful, caught the light of the chandelier.

“A wife should know how to roast a bird without drying it out,” Gloria continued.

She looked down at Hazel and Ruby.

Her lip curled slightly.

“But then, some women fail at the most basic duties.”

I felt a cold sensation in the back of my neck.

“They are hungry, Gloria,” I said, my voice quiet. “Let them eat.”

Hazel reached out her small hand toward her plate of chicken and roasted potatoes.

Before her fingers could touch the porcelain, Gloria stood up.

She reached across the table with surprising speed.

She snatched Hazel’s plate away.

“Hey,” Hazel whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

Gloria did not look at her.

She reached over and took Ruby’s plate too.

“Mother,” I said, my voice hardening. “What are you doing?”

“The Ralston name is carried by sons,” Gloria said, stacking the two plates.

She handed them to the maid, who stood frozen by the sideboard.

“Take these to the kitchen,” Gloria ordered.