The Wife He Traded for Her Sister

3: 3

By the time I got back to the house, it was afternoon.

I meant to grab a few things that mattered and move out.

I'd barely reached the second floor when I heard the snip of scissors coming from my room.

My stomach clenched, and I shoved the door open.

Tilda was sitting on the carpet, a big pair of scissors in her hand.

The floor was covered in scraps of the hand-embroidered heirloom dress my grandmother had left me.

It was the only keepsake I had in this world.

"Tilda! What are you doing!"

I flew at her like something wild and snatched the scissors out of her hand.

She flinched at the look on my face, then blinked all innocent, a smug little smile still tugging at her mouth.

"Don't be mad, sis."

"I just thought this thing was old and ugly. The style's ancient."

"So I figured I'd cut it up for you, turn it into rags for the floor. Waste not, right?"

Looking at that beautiful embroidery reduced to torn strips on the floor, every drop of blood in me rushed straight to my head.

"You little bitch!"

I raised my hand and slapped her hard, twice, one across each cheek.

The blows knocked her to the floor, five clear finger marks flaring up fast on her pale skin.

She clutched her face, froze for a second, then let out a scream sharp enough to split stone.

"Ah! My sister hit me! Jim, help!"

Almost the same instant, the door was kicked open from the outside.

Jim rushed in out of breath, saw Tilda on the floor, and went white.

"Tillie!"

He crossed the room in a single stride, shoved me hard out of the way, and gathered Tilda against him like she was the most fragile thing in the world.

I hit the corner of the cabinet, pain shooting through my lower back.

"Odette, have you lost your mind? You dared to hit her!"

Jim's eyes were bloodshot, glaring at me with pure menace.

I braced myself on the cabinet and got up, pointing at the scraps of the dress on the floor.

"She destroyed the keepsake my grandmother left me! Two slaps is getting off easy!"

Tilda cowered in Jim's arms, trembling, her tears falling right on cue.

"Jim... I didn't mean to... I just saw how worn out the dress was and wanted to help her tidy up..."

"I really didn't know it was Grandma's keepsake..."

"Sob, sob... if she doesn't like it, I'll just buy her a new one..."

Jim stroked her hair, aching for her, then turned and glared at me with venom.

"It's just one shabby dress. And that's worth hitting someone over?"

"Don't you know Tillie has a bad heart? She can't take being upset!"

"If anything happens to her, I'll have you buried right beside her!"

Watching that biased, spiteful face of his, I found the whole thing beyond absurd.

"Her heart's bad? A bad heart means she gets to wreck other people's things?"

"Jim, is your head full of water?"

That tipped Jim over the edge.

He shot to his feet, grabbed me by the collar, and dragged me toward the door like a dead dog.

"You're impossible! You've had it too easy for too long, that's your problem. You don't know your place!"

"Today I'm going to teach you a lesson, teach you how to act like a decent person!"

He was far too strong. There was no breaking free.

He hauled me all the way to the back courtyard and kicked open the iron door of the abandoned basement.

It was dark and damp down there, thick with the smell of mold.

"You can sit down here and think hard about what you've done! When you've figured out how to apologize to Tillie, then you can come out!"

He shoved me in with all his force.

I hit the cold concrete floor, scraping the skin off my palms.

"Jim! This is false imprisonment! Let me out!"

I scrambled up and threw myself at the door, pounding on the iron.

The door slammed shut with a huge bang, followed by the sound of the lock turning.

From outside came Jim's voice, cold to the bone.

"No one opens this door for her without my say-so. No water, no food!"

"Let her go hungry! Let her go thirsty! We'll see how long that worthless little body of hers holds out!"