Chapter 3
The next morning, I was in the kitchen making porridge.
Margaret was sitting in the living room, the slap mark from last night still bright on her face. She sat there, brooding and saying nothing.
Richard left earlier than usual, probably to avoid the mess.
"Margaret, have some porridge," I said, bringing the bowl over.
She didn't even look at me. "No."
I set the bowl down on the table and turned to get my son ready for school.
"Emma Carter," Margaret called out.
I stopped in my tracks.
"Tell David that this weekend, you two are driving me back to my hometown to bring your aunt here," she said.
It wasn't a request, but an order.
"Margaret, shouldn't we all sit down and talk about this?" I asked.
"Talk about what?" Margaret finally shot me a look, that same sneer I knew all too well. "This is my son's house. I'm the one in charge.
"You barely scrape together a couple bucks a month, so who do you think you are to have a say?"
I gripped the strap of my son's backpack.
"Margaret, I'm not trying to argue about who gets a say. Your sister is bedridden and needs professional care. We don't have the means for that," I said.
"Means or no means, I'll take care of her myself." Margaret shot back.
"You're sixty-three now..."
"What, you think I'm too old?"
That was how it always was with Margaret. No matter what I said, she'd twist it, and any kindness from me, she'd always find a way to make it sound bad.
"Forget it," I said.
"Forget what? Are you going to agree or not?" Margaret pressed.
With my back to her, I said softly, "Margaret, I don't have the right to disagree. Whatever you say goes."
As I closed the door, I heard her curse something behind me.
I couldn't make out what she said.
Not that I wanted to know anyway.
After dropping my son off at school, I didn't go to the office.
I sat down on a bench by the entrance to our apartment complex and called my mom. "Mom..."
"What's wrong? It's so early," she asked.
"Nothing, I wanted to hear your voice."
There was a brief silence on the other end. "Did you and Margaret have another fight?"
"No."
"Emma, how many times have I told you? If you can't take it anymore you can leave. Come home. I will always have your back."
I managed a faint smile. "I'm really okay, Mom. Seriously."
I sat there on the bench for a long time after hanging up.
The March wind was still chilly, brushing my face with a damp bite.
My phone rang. It was the HR from the new company.
"Ms. Carter, confirming that you can start next Monday, right?" she asked.
"Yes," I replied.
"Great, bring your documents and be there by nine."
"Got it, thanks."
I clutched my phone in my hand.
Next Monday.
A new job.
A fresh start.
No matter how crazy things got with this family, I need to make sure I can stand on my own two feet first.