My mother sat on the closed toilet lid, wrapped in a white towel, trembling so violently that her knees knocked together.
“They’ll hear you,” she whispered.
I covered the phone with my hand.
“No one is going to hurt you again.”
Her eyes searched my face as though she wanted to believe me but had forgotten how.
Judge Thorne continued, “Can she leave the residence safely?”
“Not without alerting them. Julian has the car keys, her identification, and all her medication.”
“Then remain where you are. Help is coming.”
The call ended.
For several seconds, I stared at my phone.
Downstairs, silverware clinked against plates. Chloe laughed at something Julian said. They sounded relaxed, almost cheerful, because they believed the old woman upstairs was still frightened into silence and the daughter they resented was too blinded by guilt to notice the truth.
