She disappears.
Silas picks up the carving knife and fork. The metal scrapes softly. He slices the meat with surgical precision. Red juice runs onto the platter.
He serves a generous portion onto a plate and places it in front of me. Then he pours a glass of deep red wine.
"Eat," he commands.
I look at the meat. My stomach churns. I’m starving, but the metallic smell of the blood reminds me of the roses. It reminds me of the violence that brought me here.
"I’m not hungry," I lie.
Silas pauses, his wine glass halfway to his lips. He lowers it slowly.
"We talked about this, Ivy," he says, his voice deceptively mild. "Lying is a bad habit. I can hear your stomach growling from here."
"I don't eat meat," I try. A desperate fabrication.
"You had a cheeseburger for lunch three days ago," he counters instantly. "From that greasy spoon on 4th Avenue. You ate the whole thing and licked the grease off your fingers."
My face burns. Of course he knows.
"I don't want it tonight," I say, pushing the plate away an inch. "I want to go home."
"You are home."
He cuts a piece of meat on his own plate, chews it slowly, swallows. His eyes never leave mine.
"Tell me about your mother," he says suddenly.
The question hits me like a physical blow. I freeze.
"What?"
"Your mother," he repeats. "Eleanor. She left when you were twelve. Walked out on a Tuesday afternoon while you were at school. Didn't leave a note."
I grip the edge of the table, my knuckles turning white. "Stop it."
"Why did she leave, Ivy?"
"Because of him," I whisper, the anger bubbling up, overriding the fear. "Because of my father. He drank. He gambled away her inheritance. He made her life a living hell."
"And she left you behind in that hell," Silas observes. "She saved herself and left her daughter to the wolves."
"She didn't have a choice!" I snap. "She tried to take me. He wouldn't let her."
"Did she?" Silas tilts his head, studying me like a specimen under a microscope. "Or is that the story you tell yourself to sleep at night? My reports say she moved to Chicago. She remarried. She has two sons now. She never petitioned for custody. She never even called."
"Shut up!" I scream, standing up. The chair scrapes loudly against the floor. "You don't know anything! You have files? You have reports? That’s not a life! That’s paper!"
I’m shaking. Tears are stinging my eyes. That wound—the abandonment—is the deepest one I have. He just stuck his finger right into it and twisted.
Silas looks at me calm, unbothered by my outburst.
"Sit down, Ivy."
"No."
"Sit. Down." The command cracks like a whip.
