Vanessa sighed theatrically. “If you had rested less and moved more, maybe you would not feel this way.”
Eleanor lowered her eyes. She had learned that eye contact only invited more words, sharper ones. She was not a guest here, not really, despite what Vanessa called her when it suited her. She was tolerated. She was useful. And usefulness came with conditions.
“You live here without paying anything,” Vanessa continued. “The least you can do is help. The housekeeper does her job, but you are family. You should contribute.”
Family. The word sat heavy in Eleanor’s chest.
She thought of the years when her son, Daniel, was still young, when she worked long hours sewing clothes for neighbors, when she skipped meals so he could have more, when she told herself that exhaustion was temporary and love was permanent. She had never imagined that love could become leverage.
“I am trying,” Eleanor said softly. “I just need a moment.”
Vanessa stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor. She reached out and grabbed Eleanor’s arm, pulling with sudden force.
“Then try harder,” she snapped.
Eleanor cried out as pain flared through her body, sharp and unforgiving. She clutched the bed to keep herself from falling.
“Do not touch me,” she pleaded. “Please.”
Vanessa released her with a look of irritation and turned away. “Get dressed,” she said. “I want the downstairs spotless before noon.”
Eleanor slowly placed her feet on the floor. The cold sent a shiver through her legs. She stood carefully, using the dresser for support, her body bent slightly forward as if trying to escape itself.
As she took her first step, a voice spoke from the doorway.
“Vanessa.”
The word landed with quiet authority.
Both women froze. Daniel Whitman stood in the doorway, his jacket still on, his expression unreadable but tense. He had returned early from a business trip, hoping to surprise his wife, hoping to spend a quiet morning with his mother. What he found instead did not fit the image he carried of his home.
His eyes moved from Vanessa to Eleanor, taking in her posture, the way her hand pressed against the dresser, the way her shoulders trembled.
“What is going on?” he asked.
Vanessa recovered quickly. She softened her expression and smiled. “You are home early,” she said warmly. “I was just helping your mother get up. She woke up sore again.”
Daniel stepped closer to his mother. “Are you all right?”