Chapter 2: The Thing She Still Hadn't Returned
Part 2 ⬇️
I didn't yell.
I didn't cry.
I went home and I sat at my kitchen table for a long time.
My daughter came in and saw my face.
"Mom.
What happened?"
I told her.
All of it.
The dried cream.
The motor sound.
What Denise said at the door.
She went very still.
Then she said, "Is it fixable?"
I didn't answer, because I already knew.
That afternoon I called a small appliance repair shop two towns over.
The man listened, asked me to bring it in.
He called back the next day.
"The motor's seized.
Something was run in it too long, probably on the wrong speed.
I can source a replacement part but it won't be cheap, and honestly — at this machine's age — I'm not sure it's worth it to anyone but you."
It was worth it to me.
My mother's hands had touched every part of that machine.
I thanked him and hung up.
Then I walked to my window and looked at Denise's house.
Her car was in the driveway.
Her lights were on.
She was in there, completely unbothered.
And that's when my daughter said the thing that gave me the idea.
"Mom — didn't she borrow something else last month?
Something she still hasn't returned?"
I turned around slowly.
She was right.
And suddenly I knew exactly what I was going to do.
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What she did next left Denise with no way out.
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