Priscilla's Point of view
I closed the door behind me and the smell of wine hit me at once, heavy, acrid, like a slap. My heart tightened. Meredith was sprawled on the couch, her hair stuck to her cheeks, the bottle clutched against her like a weapon. Her red eyes lifted toward me, burning with a rage that needed only the smallest spark.
“You’re finally home…” she spat, her voice hoarse, shredded by alcohol. Her lips trembled, but her gaze pierced through me. “Always running after your bosses, aren’t you? Do you think you’re better than me?”
I stepped closer, my breath uneven, my fingers clenched around the strap of my bag.
“Mom, stop… you’ve had too much again.”
She burst into bitter laughter, a laugh that broke into a scream. Her trembling hand slammed the bottle against the table.
