The Cruel Choice
MARY’S POV
The person who had just opened the door and walked into the grand entryway was Beatrice.
She stood frozen in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim, quiet light of the foyer, her pale face completely flushed with barely contained fury. Her hands were entirely full as she stood there, heavy shopping bags from the market, her expensive leather handbag, and a warm container of homemade food she had carried all the way to our home. She slammed everything down onto the polished entryway table with a resounding crash that echoed almost loudly through the quiet, empty rooms of the house.
The sharp sound was violent, and intimidating sudden noise that made you flinch in surprise even when you were not the direct target of the anger. I stood silently in the living room and watched her stride inside with long steps, her high heels clicking loudly against the floor, her dark eyes blazing with pure righteous anger. Her long winter coat was still wrapped around her body, her hair looking slightly disheveled and messy, as if she had dropped everything and rushed over to the house the very second she heard what was happening between her son and me.


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