“Well, I don’t know what to tell you.” He opens the paper again, sleepy gaze returning to its pages. “Motherhood doesn’t come naturally to every woman.”
I feel the sting of his words, even for a woman I don’t particularly care about. A debt to the sisterhood wells in me. I drop the toys into a basket in the corner, out of the way. “She always seemed to be a good mother to Conrad and Cory. They’re good boys.”
He stands up then, and takes a step toward me. I’ve crossed a line. I’ve pushed too hard.
“Where is this coming from? Do you not want Violet anymore?” His voice is too loud, and I worry the girls might not be fully asleep. What if Violet overheard him ask that terrible question? If I don’twanther—as if she’s a mutt we can take back to the pound.
“How can you ask me that?”
“If you want me to take her back to her mother, just say the word.”
I blink, swallowing the bitter lump in my throat. My gaze flicks between his eyes, searching for the man I thought I knew, not this stranger in front of me. “Would you do that?”
His brows draw down, a muscle tensing in his jaw. “What the hell is wrong with you, woman? You been drinking?”
“You know I don’t drink.”
He scowls, voice like gravel as he turns away from me. “Well, maybe you should.”
“I think you do enough of that for the both of us.”
He whips back around, staring at me as if I’ve started speaking another language.
I shake my head, disgust bubbling in my core like I’ve just downed a glass of rotten milk. “Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been sneaking whiskey again. I smell it on you. Just like before.”
“You’re insane.” He waves a hand at me. “Delusional, just like your damn mother was.”
Delusional. Mad. Insane. Crazy.All the insults they’ve thrown at my mother and her mother and many, many mothers before them.
The Wilde family—disappearing through walls, appearing out of thin air and shadows. I’ve heard the rumors. I know what people say about us, what they’ve always said. Just like I know at least one of my ancestors fell victim to the witch trials.
When they can’t understand us, they hurt us.
But I don’t need magic to do the right thing. “I want you to leave.”
He scoffs, looks at me as if I’m dirt, one brow rising. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”
“I want you to leave, Charles.”
“You leave.” He steps closer to me. “This is my house, woman.”
“Foxglove has never belonged to a man. It will never belong to a man.” I square my shoulders. “It will never belong to you.”
He grabs hold of my arm. “Youbelong to me.”
“Let me go.” I fight the words out between gritted teeth.
“Damn you.” His face is so close to mine, a bit of spittle hits my cheek.
Maybe this is what I needed to see. Him this angry. Him ready to hurt me. Maybe I needed to know the monster was always there lurking.
I shove him away, trying to storm out of the room, but he grabs my wrist.
His grip is too tight. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I sink my teeth into his knuckles, biting down until he jerks away with a roar. I stumble backward. In a rush to escape, my foot catches on a chair leg, and I crash to the floor.
A low chuckle builds in his throat. His lips tug into a terrible grin as he steps forward, the toe of his socked foot on the hem of my dress. “Someone’s feeling mouthy tonight.”
