Chapter 2 - THE SHATTERED VASE
Emily never got to ask about the whistle.
Margaret insisted everyone move into the sitting room for coffee and dessert. Baxter paced restlessly near the fireplace. Ethan sank onto the sofa beside Emily. Ryan lingered by the mantel. Margaret stood near the archway like a hostess staging her own portrait.
Emily could feel the room tightening around her.
Then it happened so fast she would replay it for weeks.
Ryan’s hand dipped into his trouser pocket.
A sharp, almost silent sound cut through the air.
Baxter’s head jerked violently.
And the golden retriever charged.
He ran straight into Emily with enough force to drive her backward. She crashed hard against the mantel. Her shoulder hit first, then her hip. The crystal vase tipped, teetered, and exploded across the floor.
Emily screamed.
“NO! I DIDN’T DO IT!”
For one dizzy second, all she saw was broken glass and Baxter backing away, whining in confusion.
Margaret stormed over and pointed at the shattered vase.
“You’re completely insane!”
Emily looked around desperately, breathless, humiliated. “The dog knocked me over!”
Ryan laughed directly in her face.
“Sure. Blame the dog, psycho.”
Margaret grabbed Ethan’s arm so hard the coffee cup in his hand rattled.
“She needs to be locked up.”
Emily’s face collapsed. “What?”
Ethan looked from the broken glass to Baxter to Emily. “Everybody stop.”
But Margaret was already escalating. “That vase belonged to your father. She’s always unstable around family events. I told you.”
Ryan stepped closer to Ethan, lowering his voice just enough for Emily to hear anyway.
“She’s losing her mind.”
Emily slowly stopped crying.
Something inside her began to flatten out.
Baxter stood trembling near the armchair, looking not aggressive now, but frightened—terrified, even. Emily noticed a thread of saliva hanging from his mouth, and a strange heaviness in his stance.
Ethan saw it too.
“Baxter?” he said, frowning.
Margaret moved in front of the dog as if to block Ethan’s view. “Forget the dog. Look at your wife.”
Emily stared at Ryan.
He smiled back too calmly.
Then Margaret raised her voice. “Ryan, call Dr. Lansing. We are not doing another scene like this.”
Emily went still.
“Another?” she repeated. “There was no other scene.”
Margaret ignored her. Ryan pulled out his phone.
Ethan’s confusion deepened. “Why would you call Dr. Lansing?”
Margaret answered before Ryan could. “Because I’ve been worried about Emily for months.”
Emily felt the floor shift.
Months.
Not one dinner.
Not one accident.
Preparation.
Ethan looked at his mother. “What are you talking about?”
Margaret’s expression turned grave, almost maternal. “The mood swings. The forgetfulness. The agitation. I didn’t want to embarrass her.”
Emily whispered, “You’re lying.”
Ryan slid the phone back into his pocket. “Maybe you just don’t remember.”
That was the moment Emily stopped pleading.
She looked at Ethan only once. His face was uncertain—not convinced, not yet—but uncertain enough to tell her exactly how dangerous this was about to become.
She stepped backward, away from the broken vase, then turned without another word and walked out through the kitchen door.
No one stopped her.
The cold air hit her skin.
She stood on the back patio, shaking, hearing Margaret’s voice still spilling from the house.
The dog knocked me over.
Sure. Blame the dog.
She needs to be locked up.
Emily pressed both hands against her mouth and tried not to scream.
Then she heard a faint whine from the dark side yard.
“Baxter?”
No answer.
She limped around the hedge line, following the sound to the old storage shed.
May you like
There, under the yellow security light, she found the golden retriever lying on his side in the wet grass.
Still.
