Page 102 of Graciously His

I’m twenty-two, marrying a man who’ll keep feeding me poison while Mother smiles from the corner.

There’s no way out because I’ve helped to create this mouldy prison of compliance. And I want—so badly—to open my mouth and obey.

Her smile flickers wider, as if she senses my struggle.

“You’re scarred after everything that man has put you through.” Her head tilts to one side as she lowers the knife to cut my portion of lasagna into bite-sized pieces. “He took my poor little girl and now she’s confused. But Mother took care of him, Graciously, and now it’s time to let Mother take care of you, too. I promise it’ll all be better very soon.”

“W-what do you mean you took care of him?” I ask, my voice scraping from my raw throat.

Mother ignores the question, poking a dry bit of noodle onto the knife. She brings it to my lips, even as my phone vibrates under my thigh. Nate, or someone else? I’m about to answer when Mother lunges, the edge of the knife swiping at me. My phone falls on the floor, the screen protector cracking, as I jump up from my seat to avoid the blade. Terror makes me heave, acidity working its way up from my belly and into my throat.

Mother’s liquid eyes are all pupil as she’s poised over me, waiting for me to accept everything she’s really offering on the end of that knife. Not proof against Nate. Not an explanation for Nick’s death. Nothing but more of the same: poison and death disguised as maternal love.

Except I’m not the daughter she made me into.

I’m not five. Or twelve. Or twenty-two.

I’m here. I’m now. I have a man who loves me enough to do terrible things to make me healthier. I have a friend I love to help and a dog I can cuddle and a house I dreamed into existence.

I stand slowly, my eyes never leaving her.

“I said no.”

She bares her teeth, a vein pulsing under one eye. This would be the time I’d usually yield, panic forcing me to obey. This time, I reach for the food she’s trying to weaponise against me. The lasagna pan is hot enough to hurt, but I take a tight grip on it anyway. My eyes go from the knife to her face.

“Tell me what you’ve done to incriminate my husband,” I say, my voice low and deadly, “or I’ll break this pan over your head.”

I see the moment the mask falls. Her mouth shrinks in displeasure and disappointment, her eyes become pits of boiling pitch. She’s nothing more than an angry old woman.

“He’s been planning to take you for years, Graciously—and just look at you now! A few weeks with him and I hardly recognise you! Threatening your own mother and—”

“What the fuck did you do?” I demand, my voice subarctic, the pan still scalding my hand.

“I SUBMITTED EVIDENCE AGAINST HIM!” she screams. “Do you think I’m going to let him take you back after I’ve finally got you away from—”

“What evidence?” I interrupt, cutting off her rant. “You said in your notes that there’s enough suspicious documentation for the cops to call foul play.”

“The man had clear intentions to marry his brother’s wife while that brother was still alive!”

“Based on what? An application for a marriage license that was never filed?” I shake my head. “A few changes to insurance contracts and a rewrite of a last will and testament? Circumstantial, maybe. But nothing even close to murder.”

“That man wanted Nick dead!”

“NO!” I finally match her scream with one of my own. “NO, HE FUCKING DIDN’T! Nate wanted me, and he made arrangements to get me away from you, but he never wanted Nick dead! He wanted me well, which is something neither you nor Nick ever wanted!” I sneer at her, allowing the full weight of my anger to coalesce on my face. “You know what plans Nate actually had in store for me? Helping me finish my Architecture degree—that’s what he planned! And finally getting me a proper diagnosis. More than anything else, Nate planned to keep me safe from you. That meant changing the insurance and adjusting the will and getting me to marry him. You want to talk about documentation? I have plenty showing that Nate saved me! This entire fucked up situation incriminates you, not him!”

Mother falls back a step, the knife trembling in her hand. “Graciously, how can you—”

I press on, refusing to let her wriggle out of this. “How did you get your hands on that license application, Mother? Or the insurance documents? Or any of the other stuff you sent me?” I shake my head. “How much of it did you alter to look bad enough to warrant police attention?”

She drops the knife onto the table, her hand flying to her chest again. “You accuse me of—of fraud?”

“And abuse. And attempted murder. And everything else you’d lay at the feet of the only person I’ve ever met who’s known how to deal with a bitch like you!”

“And what kind of man are you so suddenly happy to be with? Do you think Nick was unaware of his disgusting proclivities? I have some idea of the things he’ll have been doing to you all this time, Graciously!”

From my mother, I might have felt shame at this last, pathetic attack. From this recrudescent crone, I feel nothing but icy mirth. I let it out, laughing as I drop the pan onto the table. It makes a final, hollow sound.

“Will that be the next line of accusation when the first one fails? Nate is a husband who loves his wife in fucked up ways?” I let my laughter trail off, snatching my bag from its spot on the back of the chair. “Go ahead and call the cops. Tell them all about it. Because guess what? I have loved every goddamn, filthy fucking thing Nate has done to me.”