I lay staring at the ceiling, but sleep never came.
The next morning, I was wiping the dust from my mother's memorial portrait when a sharp, impatient knock broke the silence.
The moment I opened the door, Lois was standing there, chin lifted, looking down at me：
“Oh, Claudia, do you have any idea what time it is? Shouldn't you be making breakfast?”
She leaned in, a cold smirk curling at the corner of her mouth：
“Don't forget. You're my maid now.”
I didn't want to argue. I turned back into the room and set my mother's portrait carefully on the table：
“I'll be there in a minute.”
Lois swayed inside, her gaze landing on the portrait. Her lip curled in open disgust：
“You're keeping a dead woman's photo in here? That's terrible luck. It's depressing just looking at it. Bad for my baby's development.”
“Cover it up.”
“You can look away.”
I didn't look at her. I just straightened the portrait with care, my voice flat and cold.
“You……”
Lois's face flushed red. Something vicious flickered behind her eyes.
She drifted closer, as if by accident, then swept her hand across the table and knocked my mother's portrait to the floor.
I scrambled to pick it up, but her foot came down on it first. She clapped a hand over her mouth, feigning shock：
“Oh no, Claudia, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to.”
My mother's gentle face, pinned under Lois's heel. The rage I'd been holding down broke loose.
I shot to my feet and slapped her across the face. The force of it sent her stumbling. She caught the edge of the table to keep from falling.
I grabbed her by the collar and was about to hit her again when someone seized my arm from behind.
“Claudia, are you looking to die?”
Tristram's voice cut through the room, sharp with fury.
He wrenched my arm and flung me aside.
“Have you lost your mind?”
My eyes were bloodshot. I pointed at Lois：
“She threw my mother's portrait on the ground and stomped on it.”
Tristram glanced at Lois. Instantly, she burst into tears and threw herself into his arms：
“I just wanted to move your mother's portrait to the living room. The spot out there is so much better.”
“But the second I picked it up, she came at me like a maniac.”
“I only stepped on it because she scared me. It was an accident. I swear.”
“You're lying. You……”
Before I could finish, Tristram's foot slammed into my leg.
My knees cracked against the floor.
“You're just jealous that Lois is pregnant, so you're picking fights over nothing.”
“Apologize to her.”
I looked up at him, every word measured：
“I didn't do anything wrong. I won't apologize.”
Something shifted in Tristram's eyes as he stared down at my stubborn, unyielding face. For a fraction of a second, he seemed to falter, as though some buried memory had surfaced.
But the next second, Lois spoke again.
“Honey, it's fine if I'm the one being bullied. But our baby hasn't even been born yet, and already someone's treating him like this. My heart breaks for him.”
She cradled her belly, whimpering softly.
The flicker of hesitation in Tristram's eyes vanished. In its place was something brutal.
He raised his foot and brought it down, grinding it into my hand：
“Apologize to Lois.”
Pain ripped through my entire body. I shook from head to toe, but I clenched my jaw shut and didn't make a sound.
Tristram let out a cold laugh and lifted his foot.
I was about to breathe when he walked over to my mother's portrait.
He looked at me, eyes full of contempt.
The instant he raised his foot, I threw myself across the floor, shielding the portrait with my body：
“I was wrong. I'm sorry. I won't do it again.”
Tristram smiled, satisfied. He turned, scooped Lois into his arms, and carried her toward the door：
“Next time you upset Lois, I won't let you off this easy.”
