Chapter 7 - The Cost of Pride
Downstairs, the last of the caterers had packed up their warming trays and quietly slipped out the back door. The garden was empty, the sun dipping below the horizon and casting long, stretching shadows across the lawn.
Inside the kitchen, Beatrice stood over the sink, scrubbing the final gold-leafed dinner plate. Her arms ached with a dull, throbbing pain, and her lower back screamed in protest. Her immaculate cream-colored silk suit was ruined, splattered with dishwater and a streak of raspberry coulis she hadn't noticed until it was too late.
She rinsed the plate, her hands shaking slightly from the physical exertion, and set it in the drying rack. She gripped the edge of the granite counter, bowing her head. She was exhausted. A profound, bone-deep fatigue washed over her, completely stripping away her usual formidable armor.
For the first time all afternoon, a harsh realization pierced through her pride. Evelyn had been doing this for an hour. Evelyn, who was recovering from a difficult labor. Evelyn, who had been balancing a newborn baby on her chest the entire time.
Beatrice squeezed her eyes shut. In her desperation to maintain control, to feel relevant and authoritative in a house that was no longer hers, she had become cruel. The truth tasted bitter.
Footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor of the hallway. Beatrice quickly grabbed a hand towel, frantically wiping her face and attempting to smooth down her ruined suit. She braced herself as Colin walked into the kitchen.
He had changed out of his suit into jeans and a plain t-shirt. He looked around the spotless kitchen, noting the towering stacks of clean china and the exhausted, disheveled state of his mother. He didn't look angry anymore; he just looked incredibly tired.
"The guests are gone," Beatrice stated, her voice lacking its usual commanding edge. It sounded thin and frail.
"I heard," Colin replied, leaning against the doorframe. He crossed his arms. "I also see you decided to handle the cleanup."
"I... yes. The caterers were charging an exorbitant fee. It was unnecessary." She couldn't meet his eyes.
"Mom," Colin sighed, the sound heavy in the quiet room. "Sit down."
Beatrice hesitated, then moved to one of the plush barstools at the island, sinking into it gratefully.
"Evelyn is my wife," Colin began, his tone even but leaving no room for argument. "She is the mother of my child. This is her sanctuary. If you want to stay in this house, you will treat her with the absolute respect she deserves. You will not order her around. You will not belittle her. You are a guest here, and you will act like one."
Beatrice gripped the hand towel in her lap, her knuckles white. The instinct to defend herself, to demand respect as his mother, flared up, but the lingering ache in her back and the memory of Evelyn’s tear-streaked face silenced her.
"I am trying to find my place, Colin," Beatrice whispered, the admission costing her dearly. "Since your father passed, since you built this life... I just don't know where I fit anymore."
"You fit as Leo's grandmother," Colin said softly. "You fit as my mother. But you do not fit as the manager of this household. You have to let that go, or you're going to lose us entirely."
May you like
He pushed off the doorframe and walked over to the refrigerator, grabbing two bottles of water. He set one in front of her.
"Take the night to think about it," Colin said. "If you can't live with those boundaries, I will pay for a car to take you back to your condo tomorrow morning. The choice is yours."
