Chapter 6
My mother stood on the front welcome mat,
holding a massive bouquet of yellow tulips,
wearing a smug, self-satisfied expression on her face.
Sierra stood right behind her,
holding the sleeping newborn in a carrier,
looking exhausted but undeniably triumphant.
I smiled broadly,
ushering them into the warm apartment,
playing the role of the gracious, oblivious host.
My mother kissed my cheek with cold lips,
handing me the flowers with a condescending sigh,
telling me I looked a bit tired and overworked.
I thanked her for her constant, loving concern,
taking the flowers and tossing them on the counter,
without bothering to put them in a glass vase.
Sierra walked into the living room slowly,
setting the baby carrier on the plush rug,
and looked around as if she owned the place.
Kevin emerged from the hallway looking sick,
his eyes darting frantically between me and Sierra,
terrified that someone would make a fatal slip.
My mother greeted him with extreme warmth,
hugging him a little too tightly for a mother-in-law,
praising him for looking so handsome and strong.
Sierra gave him a soft, lingering look,
a secret communication between guilty lovers,
which I observed with crystal-clear precision.
I asked if I could hold the new baby,
watching Sierra hesitate for a brief second,
before she forced a smile and nodded her head.
I reached down and lifted the small child,
looking at the tiny, innocent sleeping face,
knowing this baby was the product of immense cruelty.
I looked at the baby's mouth and chin,
seeing the undeniable resemblance to my husband,
just as they had discussed in the hospital room.
I felt no anger toward the sleeping infant,
who was completely innocent in this twisted game,
but my hatred for the adults burned hotter than ever.
I handed the baby back to my nervous sister,
telling her he looked exactly like his father,
and watched her flinch as if I had slapped her.
Kevin choked on the glass of water he was drinking,
coughing violently into his closed fist,
while my mother patted his back with fake concern.
I asked them all to take a seat at the table,
announcing that the roast was perfectly finished,
and that it was time to begin our special celebration.
They gathered around the dining room table,
taking their assigned seats with hesitant steps,
unaware of the red folders hidden beneath their napkins.
I poured a generous glass of red wine for everyone,
except for Sierra,
who received a glass of sparkling water instead.
I sat at the head of the table like a judge,
looking at the three people who had ruined my life,
feeling an intoxicating surge of absolute power.
The smell of roasted garlic filled the room,
creating a comforting, domestic illusion,
which I was about to shatter into a million pieces.
I raised my wine glass high in the air,
tapping it gently with a silver butter knife,
calling for everyone's immediate attention.
My mother smiled eagerly,
expecting me to offer financial support,
or announce a new gift for her golden child.
I told them I had prepared a special surprise,
May you like
something to commemorate the truth of our family,
and asked them to lift their linen napkins.
