Elena’s Point Of View
The words slipped out before I could stop them, sharp and bitter as bile.
“Wow. What an Oscar-winning performance.”
Her eyes flicked to mine in a flash, just for a heartbeat, the perfect mask cracked, and I saw it: the simmering rage, the knife-sharp hatred, the hunger for control. Then, like the flick of a switch, she was crying again, her hands pressed to her chest as if she were the very embodiment of motherly grief.
But I wasn’t letting her dance unchallenged.
“Then tell me,” I said, my voice cutting through the thick air, “why didn’t you contact the police if I’ve been missing for that long?”
The officers’ heads snapped toward her. The room held its breath.
Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. For once, she stuttered. “I… I… I was so afraid… s
