Chapter 3 - The Broken Mirror
When I pulled into our driveway twenty minutes later, the front yard still bore the sad remnants of the ruined party. The triceratops piñata was still tied to the oak branch, swaying gently in the summer breeze, its bright crepe paper faded by three days of exposure.
Inside, the house was dead silent. Declan sat at the kitchen table, his head buried in his hands. A half-empty cup of cold coffee sat beside him. When he heard my footsteps, he lifted his head. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face pale and drawn.
"Where were you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Lorine called me ten minutes ago. She said you sent her files. She said... she said you went to my mother’s house."
I placed my handbag on the counter, poured myself a glass of water, and faced him. "I did. I attended her church circle meeting."
Declan stood up so fast his chair screeched against the hardwood. "Karen! How could you do that?! She’s an old woman! Whatever she did, you just humiliated her in front of her entire social circle! She’s going to be exiled from the church!"
I set the glass down with a loud clack. The sheer disbelief in his voice ignited a cold, hard rage that had been simmering in my chest for eight long years.
"'Whatever she did'?" I echoed, stepping toward him until he had to lean back against the table. "Declan, look at me. Look at your wife. Do you even hear yourself?"
"She’s my mother!" he yelled, throwing his hands up. "Yes, she’s difficult! Yes, the cake was awful and completely out of line! I was going to talk to her! I was going to demand an apology!"
"You were going to do what you’ve done for eight years," I hissed. "Nothing. You were going to let a day pass, then a week, then a month, until you convinced yourself it wasn't that bad. Then you would have asked me to 'move on for the sake of peace.' Well, the peace is dead, Declan. It died the moment my son read those three words on his birthday cake while his friends watched."
Declan flinched, but he tried to hold his ground. "You blew this up into an international incident! You printed dossiers! You made a spectacle!"
"I protected our son!" I shouted, the fury finally breaking through my restraint. "Something you have failed to do since the day he was born! When she refused to hold him in the hospital, you said she was tired. When she bought Christmas gifts for Lorine’s kids and gave Theo a hand-me-down dish towel, you said she was old-fashioned. When she told him he ruined your life, you told me I misunderstood her! You are a coward, Declan!"
The word hung in the air, heavy and sharp. Declan’s jaw worked silently. He looked as if I had struck him across the face.
"I am his father," he stammered, his voice trembling.
"Then act like it!" I shouted back. "A father protects his child from monsters, even if the monster is the woman who gave birth to him! He hasn't come out of his room in three days, Declan! He thinks he’s a mistake! He thinks his existence is a burden to this family because your mother drilled it into his head and you stood there holding a spatula while she did it!"
Declan sank back into his chair, dropping his face into his hands. His shoulders began to heave as quiet, gasping wrens of tears finally broke through his defense.
"I didn't know how to stop her," he choked out, his voice small and pathetic. "Growing up... if you went against her, she destroyed you. She made you feel like you didn't exist. I was terrified of her my whole life, Karen. I thought... I thought if I just kept the peace, she’d eventually stop."
I walked over to the table and stood beside him. The anger didn't evaporate, but it settled into something firm and resolute.
"She will never stop on her own," I said, my tone softening slightly, though remaining unyielding. "People like Vivien only stop when they run out of victims. I am done being her victim, and I will die before I let Theo be her next one."
Declan looked up, his face slick with tears. "What do we do now?"
"You have a choice," I said clearly. "You can stay in this house, stand beside your wife and son, and accept that your mother is no longer part of our lives. Or you can pack a bag, go back to her, and spend the rest of your life making excuses for her cruelty. But you cannot do both anymore. Choose right now."
Declan stared at me, the reality of his life splintering into two distinct paths. He looked toward the hallway leading to Theo’s room, where the door remained shut tight against the world.
Slowly, Declan stood up. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and took a deep, shuddering breath.
"Where are the keys to the garage?" he asked, his voice shaking but clear.
May you like
I blinked. "Why?"
"I’m going to take down that piñata," he said. "And then I’m going to sit outside Theo’s door until he lets me in. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life apologizing to him."
