“Helen? Is everything alright? You sound furious.”
“I’m standing in their kitchen,” I replied, looking directly at Ethan, whose smug expression was beginning to curdle into vague, nervous confusion. “Your golden-boy protégé—the one you spent half a million dollars setting up in tech logistics—has his wife standing barefoot on freezing tile while his mother treats her like an indentured servant. And right now, he just shattered my grandmother’s wedding china because she didn't bring them food fast enough.”
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush concrete.