He was tearing open the wooden cabinets, throwing boxes of tea and canned goods onto the floor.

Ruth was sitting on the floor in the corner.

Her apron was torn at the shoulder.

There was a dark bruise beginning to form on her cheek.

But her arms were wrapped tightly around a small, rusted metal box.

“Give me the box, Ruth,” Vance said, his voice low and dangerous.

“You don’t understand what you are playing with.”

“This family is built on lies.”

“I am saving Daniel from himself.”

“You are saving your own bank account,” Ruth spat.

She looked up and saw me standing in the doorway.

She did not make a sound, but her eyes widened.

Vance saw her expression change.

He began to turn around.

Before he could face me, I stepped into the pantry and grabbed his shoulder.

I spun him around and shoved him against the wooden shelves.

A jar of preserves fell and shattered on the floor between us.

“Get out of my house, Vance,” I said.

Vance stumbled, but he quickly regained his balance.

He straightened his coat, trying to regain his dignity.