Chapter 7 - THE HIDDEN RECORDER
As the meal progressed into the dessert course, the polite facade began to crack under the weight of my calm, unyielding boundary-setting. Every time she tried to gaslight me about the past, I deflected it with factual precision, refusing to take the bait or play the hysterical victim she craved. Her eyes narrowed, the maternal warmth evaporating to reveal the cold, predatory core beneath.
“You have become remarkably ungrateful, Rowan,” she hissed, leaning forward over the white tablecloth, her voice dropping into a dangerous register. “After everything I sacrificed to keep you out of institutional care when you shattered your body on those stairs, this is how you repay me? Bringing strangers into our family business?”
Across the room, unbeknownst to her, Josie was holding her smartphone under the edge of the table, capturing the visual breakdown while my sleeve recorder transcribed every single word of the tirade. My mother stood up, her chest heaving, entirely convinced that intimidation would work just as it had when I was a child. She walked around the table, her shadow falling over my chair, ready to enforce her will through physical dominance.
