Chapter 3 - The Unraveling
My vision went completely red. The polite, quiet mother who avoided conflict, who swallowed her anger to keep the peace, died right there on that cold concrete floor.
"Who did this?" I demanded, my voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register that didn't sound like my own. "Ruby, who put this on you?"
“Grandma,” she whimpered, tears finally spilling over her lashes, cutting clean tracks through the dust on her cheeks. “And Aunt Mallerie took pictures. She said it was for my own good, so I’d remember how disgusting I looked before I put food in my mouth.”
I reached out with shaking hands and began tearing at the duct tape. The adhesive was strong, biting into her skin, and every time I pulled, Ruby winced, letting out a sharp gasp of pain. When the tape finally gave way with a loud, tearing rip, the trash bag fell away to reveal a horrific canvas of abuse.
Her back and upper arms were crisscrossed with angry, purple-red welts. Raised, swollen lines where a heavy leather belt had struck her flesh repeatedly.
“Every time I asked for a piece of turkey,” Ruby sobbed, burying her face in my shoulder as I pulled her into my arms, careful not to press against her bruised back, “Grandma hit me with Uncle Frank’s belt. She told me if I cried, she’d lock me in the storage room until New Year's. And... and everyone laughed. When I tripped trying to walk upstairs, they all laughed at me. They called me the family pig.”
The sheer brutality of it paralyzed me for a fraction of a second, followed by a surge of adrenaline so hot it burned. They had starved her. They had beaten her with a belt. They had humiliated her, photographed her trauma like a trophy, and laughed while she starved on Christmas Day.
“We’re leaving,” I whispered fiercely into her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Right now. You are never, ever coming back to this house.”
I grabbed the discarded red velvet dress, gently slipped it back over her shoulders to hide the terrible reality from anyone upstairs, and wrapped my heavy wool coat around her shivering frame. I didn't bother calling out to Trevor. I didn't care what excuse he was making upstairs with his parents. I scooped Ruby into my arms, carrying her heavy, trembling weight up the basement stairs, pushing open the door, and walking straight through the dining room while thirty family members sat laughing over their roast beef and wine.
Beverly looked up from the head of the table, her wine glass suspended halfway to her mouth, her expression instantly shifting from festive cheer to sharp, cold irritation.
“Where do you think you’re going with her before dessert?” Beverly snapped, her voice carrying across the silent dining room. “We’re cutting the bûche de Noël in five minutes.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. I turned my head slowly, fixing Beverly with a glare so cold it made several relatives shift uncomfortably in their seats.
“You are monsters,” I said, every word dripping with venom. “All of you.”
Trevor stood up from his chair, alarmed, stepping toward us. “Hey, what’s going on? Where are you taking her?”
May you like
“Look at your family, Trevor,” I told him, my voice cracking with suppressed rage. “Look at what they just did to your daughter while you sat here eating your dinner.”
Before Trevor could ask another question, I turned and walked out the front door, slamming it behind us with a force that rattled the holiday wreath on the glass.
