MARCELLUS
The silence that hovers after I mention my mother is exquisite. Hayden Wolfe looks like I've just buried a knife between his ribs and twisted it slowly. Color drains from his face, and then it floods back with raw fury. It's not nearly satisfying.
I've rehearsed this moment for years. Fantasized about feeding him even a fraction of the ruin he left behind.
Instead, all I feel is bone-deep exhaustion.
"Hayden," my mother-in-law whispers, her voice trembling.
No one moves. The air is thick enough to chew on.
Across the table, Nora's father stares at me. Part of me hopes he'd try to fight me.
"Get out," he says, his voice like ice.
"Honey—" his wife starts.
"I said get out.”
I push my chair back, calmly. "With pleasure."
Nora's hand shoots out, her fingers wrapping around
