Evelyn’s face underwent a terrifying transformation. For a fraction of a second, absolute panic flashed in her eyes. But just as quickly, the mask of the pious, grieving mother slipped back on. She let out a dramatic, trembling sob and fell to her knees right there on the hardwood floor, grabbing Richard’s jeans.
“Richard, don’t listen to her!” she wailed, her voice cracking with manufactured heartbreak. “She’s delusional! She’s trying to cover up her filth by accusing your own mother! I came in here to bring her some extra tea, and I caught this… this man putting his hands on her! She was awake, Richard! She was smiling at him!”
The cousin who always looked at me like I owed him money—Marcus—stepped forward, scoffing. “Typical. Caught red-handed and the first thing she does is blame Aunt Evelyn. You’ve always been snake, Natalie.”
Richard looked utterly lost. The man I had loved for four years, the man who swore to protect me, was drowning in a sea of doubt. He looked at the stranger, who was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, smelling of stale cigarettes and desperation.
“Who are you?” Richard asked, his voice shaking with a dangerous mix of anger and confusion. “What are you doing in my house?”
The stranger looked at Evelyn, then at me, then at the door. He was evaluating his options. “Look, man, I don’t want no trouble,” the guy mumbled, playing his part just as Evelyn had scripted. “She texted me. Said her husband was going to be out late. I didn’t know she was married until I got here, I swear. Then the old lady walked in and started screaming.”
