Chapter 2 - The Livestream Was Never Turned Off
The front door slammed behind me with a hollow thud that echoed into the night air.
The October chill hit my face, shocking me out of the blinding adrenaline that had carried me out of the dining room.
In my arms, Maisie was shivering, her hot tears soaking into my collarbone.
Her little fingers clutched my cardigan so hard her knuckles turned white.
“Mama,” she whimpered. “Nana mad.”
“I know, baby,” I choked out, pressing my lips to the unbruised side of her forehead. “Mama’s got you. You’re safe now.”
I buckled her into her car seat with shaking hands.
My fingers fumbled with the straps, slick with cold sweat.
My right palm was throbbing from the impact of slapping Evan’s jaw, a sharp, stinging reminder that my life as I knew it had just burned to ash.
Before I could even put the key into the ignition, the passenger door flew open.
Evan stood there, his hair disheveled, his face bearing the vivid red outline of my handprint.
He didn't have his glasses on; his eyes were squinting, watery, and pathetic.
“Are you out of your mind, Clara?” he hissed, looking nervously over his shoulder toward his mother’s porch.
“Do you have any idea what you just did?”
“Get away from my car, Evan,” I said, my voice dead and cold.
“You hit me! You assaulted me at my mother’s birthday party!” he raised his voice, stepping closer.
“And you humiliated her! Over a bowl of soup!”
I turned to face him, leaning across the console so close he could see the fury burning behind my eyes.
“Your mother struck a two-year-old in the face,” I said, every word clipped and heavy.
“And you sat there eating steak.”
“She was disciplining her!” he shouted back defensively. “Maisie ruined a three-thousand-dollar antique tablecloth! Mom was startled! She didn't mean to hit her that hard!”
“Get out of the doorway, Evan.”
“No! You are coming back inside right now,” he demanded, reaching to grab my wrist. “You are going to apologize to my mother, you are going to wipe down the rug, and we are going to fix this before—”
His phone buzzed frantically in his pocket.
Then it buzzed again.
And again.
A non-stop barrage of chimes, rings, and notifications began echoing from his jacket.
At the exact same moment, Tessa ran out of the front door of the house, her high heels clicking wildly against the cobblestone path.
She wasn’t holding the phone high anymore.
She was holding it in front of her face like it was an unexploded bomb.
“Evan! Evan, hang up! Stop!” Tessa screamed, her voice cracking with terror.
Evan blinked, turning around in the driveway. “What? What is it, Tess?”
“The stream!” Tessa cried, tears streaming down her carefully painted face. “The livestream! I was using Mom’s charity Facebook page! The one with the regional donors and the country club board members!”
Evan froze. “What are you talking about?”
“I didn't turn it off!” Tessa shrieked, clutching her hair. “When Mom hit Maisie, I panicked and dropped the phone face-up on the salad bowl! The camera caught everything! It caught Mom hitting her, it caught Clara hitting you, it caught your speech... Evan, there were over four thousand people watching live! The mayor’s wife just commented!”
A silence fell over the driveway that was heavier than the slap in the dining room.
I looked at Evan.
The blood completely drained from his face, leaving the red mark on his cheek glowing like a beacon of his cowardice.
“Four thousand?” Evan whispered.
“It’s already being screen-recorded,” Tessa sobbed, holding out the screen. “People are tagging Child Protective Services. They’re tagging the police. They’re calling Mom a monster!”
From inside the house, a sudden, high-pitched scream erupted.
Margaret had clearly just checked her own iPad.
Evan looked at me, his eyes wide with an emotion that wasn't regret for his child, but sheer, suffocating dread for his social standing.
“Clara,” he stammered, his voice dropping into a desperate beg. “Clara, please. You have to go on camera. You have to tell them it was a misunderstanding. A game. A family skit. Please, Clara, my job at the firm—Mom’s foundation—”
I reached over, grabbed the door handle, and slammed the passenger door shut right in his face.
May you like
I locked it.
I shifted the car into reverse and hit the gas, leaving my husband and his sister choking on exhaust in the dark driveway.
