Chapter 81

Instead of waiting for Clifford, Latisha took a cab to Lambert Manor alone.

As evening descended, a misty rain fell over Etherea City, shrouding the architecture in a haze.

Upon arriving, Latisha got out, carrying a bag of fruit she'd bought from a roadside stand. It didn't matter what she brought; she knew Polly would find fault with it anyway.

Lambert Manor was already buzzing with activity, its driveway and courtyard lined with cars.

Wallace had a daughter, Yolanda, from his first marriage. She'd been married off young in a strategic alliance, and tonight, she was here with her husband and their two children. Clifford and his sister, Renata, were Polly's children. Then there was the youngest son, the one Wallace had brought home from an affair. His birth mother had reportedly died of an amniotic fluid embolism during childbirth, so Wallace had taken him in. Polly had raised the boy, but with a distinct lack of care reserved for another woman's son, her neglect had shaped him into a good-for- nothing playboy.

The moment Latisha stepped through the gate, the sound of children playing reached her ears. Their innocent laughter was like a thousand tiny needles piercing her heart, and a dull ache spread through her chest.

She stood in the courtyard under her umbrella as the two children charged toward her. The older one, a boy of about seven, ran right into her legs.

Latisha stumbled, nearly losing her balance.

"The dummy's here!"

"The dummy's here!"

The boy danced around her, chanting the cruel word. He tore open her deepest wounds with the cheerful innocence of a child, oblivious to the pain he was inflicting.

Latisha ignored him and tried to walk past, heading for the main house. The boy lunged, grabbing for the bag of fruit, but Latisha held on tight.

"Give it to me!"

He glared up at her, his face puffed with anger. Latisha simply stared back, her expression calm, refusing to let go.

The hostility in this house was a palpable thing, a suffocating presence that stirred the resentment simmering inside her. She clutched the bag stubbornly, unsure if the tightness in her chest was grief or pure rage.

*Why do they get to be so happy? Just because I can't speak, they got to take everything from me. Both of my children died because of this family Because I'm a mute, I'm the guilty one the one who with deserves to suffer?*

Frustrated, the boy bared his teeth and yanked on the bag again, this time kicking his foot out to shove against her leg. Latisha's fingers loosened as she sidestepped his kick. Losing his support, the boy tumbled backward from the momentum, landing hardon the ground. The bag ripped open, and the fruit scattered across the muddy ground.

Stunned and hurt, the boy sat on the damp earth and began to wail. His piercing cries brought people running from the house.

Yolanda rushed out, scooping the boy up and brushing the mud from his clothes. "Halston, are you all right?"

Sobbing, Halston pointed an accusing finger at Latisha.

Every head turned toward Latisha, and a dozen pairs of eyes fixed on her, judging her as if she were some kind of monster. She gripped the handle of her umbrella so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Renata chimed in with a teasing, singsong voice, "Really, Latisha? A grown woman picking on a little boy?"

Yolanda, barely suppressing her anger, adopted the tone of a stern older sister-in- law. "I heard what happened. He's just a child, he doesn't know any better. But you do. How could you stoop to his level?"

At thirty-five, Yolanda was significantly older than Latisha, but she carried herself well, looking closer to her late twenties.

Then she muttered under her breath, "So uncivilized."

The words were soft, lost beneath the sound of her son's crying.

"That's enough," Polly finally said. "Is Halston hurt?"

Seeing he wasn't, she waved a dismissive hand. "What's the point of saying all this

to a mute? Let's just get inside out of the rain."