But when my increasingly frigid gaze fixed on her, she suddenly weakened.
Her voice faltered.
I asked coldly:
“Go on. Why’d you stop?”
My fingers tightened, knuckles whitening.
My chest felt suffocated, as if bound by an iron hoop.
“Is it because you have no confidence to say it—or you don’t dare to?”
I didn’t wait for her answer.
I answered for her.
“Your so-called obedient, sensible daughter—”
Every word scraped out of me like blood on a whetstone.
“—three years ago she pushed her best friend down the stairs and turned her into a vegetable.”
Marielle’s face went instantly pale.
I went on.
“Your so-called obedient, sensible daughter, three years later, on the very first day I came home, framed me for ruining her birthday-party dress and made me lose face at Bayou Pointe.”
E
