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“Then you’re already lost.”

He doesn’t shout it. He doesn’t have to. The venom’s in the stillness.

“If the wife won’t submit, the daughter must.”

I freeze.

My stomach twists into something awful and cold.

He means me.

“You wouldn’t…”

“Wouldn’t I?” he asks.

“God works in mysterious ways, Eleanor. Maybe you weren’t meant for the deliverance after all. Maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe it’s meant to be Lydia.”

“No!” she screams. Her voice sounds ripped in half. “You’re sick, Harold. You’re…”

Then, a crash.

Something heavy hits the wall. I jump, my hand flying to my mouth to keep the cry inside.

I hear her sobbing.

Then noises, struggling, fast and messy. Clothes maybe. Her gasp. Her choke. Another slam. A grunt. Then… something wet. Gurgling.

I cover my ears.

But I still hear it.

And then, nothing.

Just silence.

Big and wide and terrible.

I don’t know what happened.

But I know something’s gone.

When he speaks again, his voice is soft. Almost gentle.

“God will forgive you, Eleanor. But you’ll answer to Him now, not me.”

My knees buckle.

I slump against the wall.

The door creaks.

I scramble deeper into the shadows.

He steps out. Adjusts his collar like he’s just stepped down from the pulpit. His face is calm. Too calm. Almost peaceful, like nothing just happened. He walks right past me, heading toward the kitchen without a word.

The office door creaks open a little wider. And that’s when I see her.

My mother.