The pillow came down like a white curtain over my face, soft as mercy and heavy as murderThrough the tightly woven cotton pressing over my nose and mouth, I could smell the harsh, sterile tang of hospital detergent violently clashing with the cloying, expensive scent of Chanel No. 5. It was her signature scent. I had spent the last two years suffocating under it at country club dinners and holiday galas, but tonight, the suffocation was literal
Above me, my mother-in-law, Margaret Sterling, smiled as she tried to end my life.You should have died in the fall, you cheap trash,” Margaret whispered.She leaned her weight into her arms. The cold, heavy platinum of her diamond tennis bracelet scraped viciously against my bruised cheek. The metal was freezing against my inflamed skin, a sharp contrast to the burning heat building in my oxygen-starved lungs.But I’ll finish the job,” she continued, her voice a low, melodic purr that vibrated through the mattress, “so my son can finally be free of you.”
