Page 12 of Till Death Do Us Part

Emma's heart raced as people praised the family for their perfect appearance. She could feel her mother's gaze upon her and saw slight disapproval in her eyes. She tried to walk even more erectly, holding her chin just a bit higher in hopes of not causing offense or provoking her mother's wrath. Each movement was careful and precise, and she was sure to stay in step with her siblings as if one false move could trigger unseen consequences.

The older girls were dressed in the same style, their dresses swaying ever so lightly with each step they took. Their mother, walking at the head of the line, smiled politely as people they passed praised her children.

“Oh, how pretty they all look!” one woman remarked.

Emma glanced up at her mother’s face from time to time—nervously searching for any disapproving looks or signs of anger—and tried to keep her steps in perfect rhythm with those ahead. Every swish of a dress hem seemed to reverberate.

"Such a beautiful family," someone else said, no one addressing the fact that the girls' eyes all had a terrified look or that Emma's hands were shaking in fear.

The girls smiled and nodded as they had been taught, yet despite their appearance, an invisible current of fear traveled along the line, binding them together in a moment of reverie. Even the simplest of movements or actions could trigger the dreaded wrath of their mother, erasing any sense of security they had.

Emma's heart raced as she glanced up at her mother, who gave her a slightly disapproving look. She quickly adjusted her posture, walking with her chin just a bit higher, and tried to keep her steps in perfect unison with her siblings. She didn't want to be the one to make a mistake and incur the wrath of her mother.

As they walked, Emma couldn't help but glance around at the other children her age, laughing and playing without a care in the world. She longed to join in, to be free from the constant pressure of perfection. But she knew that was impossible. Her mother wouldn't allow it.

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew through the market, sending papers and fruit peels flying. Emma's dress fluttered around her legs, and startled at this, fighting to prevent it from happening, she stumbled, losing her place in line. She put her hands in front of her chest as she landed on the ground. Her heart racing, she looked up at her mother, waiting for the inevitable punishment.

But to her surprise, her mother simply reached out a hand, pulling her back into place.

"Be more careful, Emma," she said softly, a small smile on her lips, throwing a cautious glance around at the people looking at them. It wasn't much, but to Emma, it was a gift, a rare moment of kindness that she knew could be taken away at any moment.

And so, it was.

As soon as they made it back home and the door was closed behind them, all hell broke loose. It came out of the blue and startled Emma. Her mother approached her, moving fast, her eyes turning dangerously dark. She reached over and pinched her arm hard.

Emma winced in pain as her mother put her face close to hers.

"How could you embarrass me like that? How could you do that to me?"

"I'm… sorry…," she apologized, hoping her mother would let her go, but instead, her mother grabbed her hair and pulled her head back.

"Sorry doesn't cut it, Emma,” she yelled. “You embarrassed me in front of everyone. God, you're worthless, child. You can’t even walk without tripping, pah. I can’t believe you’re my daughter… doing that. No daughter of mine can’t walk without stumbling; that’s for sure."

Emma felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She knew that showing any sign of weakness would only make things worse. Experience had taught her that.

"I'll do better," she said quietly, hoping to placate her mother. But it was no use. Her mother continued to berate her, her words cutting like a thousand knives.

"You’re darn right you will. How will I ever show my face again, huh? They're gonna think something is wrong with me for having a child like you, stumbling over her own darn feet. What's wrong with you?" Then she reached out and pinched her again, hard.

Emma winced in pain as tears streamed down her face. She knew better than to fight back or say anything other than "Yes, Mother" in a quiet voice.

Her mother finally released her and walked away, leaving her standing there alone and afraid. She felt her torso begin to shake, but she wouldn't let it. She took a deep breath, then simply wiped away her tears and began to straighten her dress, determined to keep up appearances. She had stumbled today and failed her mother, but it was never going to happen again. From now on, she was going to be perfect.

PartII

THURSDAY

Chapter8

John Baker sat in his living room, tapping his fingers against the armrest of his chair. When the doorbell rang, John braced himself as he walked to open it. He opened it to find Mrs. Johnson's face on the other side, twisted into a mask of rage. He wasn’t surprised to see her. He had expected her to show up.

"Where is my daughter?" she demanded, her voice tight with anger. "Where is my daughter?!"

John tried to maintain his composure. "Mrs. Johnson, Madeline, I'm sorry. I don't know where Rachel is."

But Mrs. Johnson was not listening. She pushed past him, barging into his house. "I demand to see the children. Where are the children!" she shouted.

John tried to stop her, but she was too strong. He followed her as she marched into the next room, calling out her grandchildren's names.

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