The doorbell rang. I rushed towards the front room, where I could happy faces shining through the glass.
If only one of those faces were mine.
I opened the door and greeted the guests, all friends of Jonas’. I gestured them towards the parlor, then rushed into the kitchen.
“Marie, get in there. The kitchen is no place for you to be.”
My daughter shot me a fierce glare, which I returned. The back door swung open. Jonas was finally home.
I took his coat and hat off and set them down. He stumbled across the mud room, Eliza, our maid, laughing in the kitchen. She knew he was drunk, so did everybody. A rage like never before consumed my body.
I slapped him.
Eliza turned away with large eyes.
“Don’t you slap me, woman.”
He grabbed a potrait off the wall and threw it across the mudroom, crashing into a wine glass on a table. He walked out in the parlor, with me following him.
The deep red of the wine soaked into the family potrait, one from years ago, when our family was truly happy, unlike today.