Marcus looked at our faces, sensed the heavy silence, and slowly backed out, letting the door slam shut.

The slam sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.

Juliette smoothed down her linen trousers.

She tried to regain her composure, straightening her spine.

“I don’t have to justify my personal finances to any of you,” she said.

“And certainly not to her,” she added, glaring directly at me.

I took a step forward, the heat of the stove at my back.

The resentment that had been building all day, all year, finally boiled over.

“You came into my house,” I said, my voice steady but shaking with rage.

“You complained about my food.”

“You demanded I serve you like a maid.”

“And all the while, you had more money than we’ll see in our lifetimes.”

Juliette sneered at me.

“You’ve been waiting for a handout since the day you married my son,” she said.

“You’re just mad because you didn’t get your hands on it.”

“Mom, shut up,” Dan warned.

“No, Daniel,” Juliette said, turning on him.

“She’s been whispering in your ear for years.”