Rose’s POV
The threadbare couch creaked as Margaret leaned back, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. Across the room, Ellie was sprawled on the floor, her curls bouncing as she hummed softly to herself and pieced together a puzzle. I should have felt some semblance of peace—a rare moment when Ellie seemed oblivious to the storm swirling around us.
But Margaret’s words from earlier clung to me like smoke.
“She’s been asking questions, you know,” Margaret had said, her tone cutting even through the slur of her drunkenness. “About her daddy.”
I had ignored her, as I always did. Margaret loved to stir the pot, her bitterness sharp as the whiskey she poured into her coffee. She thrived on watching me squirm, feeding on the guilt I carried like a parasite.
“Mommy, look!” Ellie’s voice p
