Across the room, my mother-in-law, Margaret, held an empty velvet jewelry box.
Her voice was cold and accusing.
"The emerald necklace belonged to my mother."
She lifted her chin.
"A priceless family heirloom."
"Something that should never have been placed in the hands of someone like you."
I stared at her.
Calm.
Silent.
"I didn't steal your necklace."
The moment those words left my mouth—
Andrew slapped me again.
Harder.
This time, he didn't hesitate.
His anger wasn't about the necklace.
It wasn't about his mother.
It wasn't even about me.
It was about proving that he still had control.
"How dare you disrespect my mother?" he shouted.
"We gave you everything."
"Our family name."
"Our home."
"Our lifestyle."
"You walked into this house with nothing, and this is how you repay us?"
I slowly touched my burning cheek.
The pain wasn't what hurt the most.
It was the realization that his hand was shaking.
Not because he regretted hurting me.
Because he enjoyed feeling powerful.
Brenda stepped closer.
"Andrew, don't waste your time," she whispered.
"Some people never change."
She looked at me with a fake smile.
"You can dress someone in expensive clothes..."
"But you can't erase where they came from."