Chapter 2 - EXCLUDED FROM THE FRAME
An hour had passed since we arrived,
and the atmosphere grew increasingly hostile,
suffocating the remaining holiday spirit.
The wealthy guests drank expensive champagne,
gossiping about market shares,
and foreign investments.
Zuri slipped back to my side,
walking quietly in her stocking feet,
and gently pulled on my sleeve.
She whispered,
"Mom,
can we please go?"
Her voice was trembling,
and her small chin was shaking violently,
holding back a flood of tears.
She looked toward the grand staircase,
where the family had gathered.
"They said I am not in the real family picture,"
she sobbed quietly.
Behind her,
my brother Kellen was busy lining up the other grandchildren,
arranging them under the staircase like festive props,
ensuring the lighting was perfect.
The other kids wore designer clothes,
matching the color scheme perfectly,
while Zuri was left out in the cold.
I felt a wave of hot fury rush through my veins,
burning away my patience.
I bent down to get her shoes,
searching the crowded entryway,
but they were completely gone.
Someone had deliberately hidden them,
ensuring she could not walk comfortably.
Marcus heard her quiet crying,
his sharp ears detecting the sound of vulnerability.
He crossed the grand hall with that smooth smile still plastered on his face,
moving with a dangerous elegance.
He spoke low enough to sound polite to the crowd,
but his words carried a deadly weight.
"There will be no scene in my house,"
he hissed,
his eyes flashing with pure malice.
Zuri crouched low near the mahogany console table,
reaching under it for her missing shoe,
hoping to escape his gaze.
When she looked up at me,
with tears glistening on her long lashes,
the unimaginable happened.
Marcus drove his heavy foot,
clad in a stiff Italian loafer,
directly into her small face.
The impact was loud,
a sickening thud that echoed through the sudden silence of the room.
His shoe caught my eight-year-old daughter's cheek,
striking her with immense force,
right in front of the decorated Christmas tree.
She dropped instantly onto the hard marble floor,
her body collapsing like a rag doll.
One beautiful gold star on her red dress twisted under her small frame,
crumpling against the stone.
The violence was sudden,
brutal,
and entirely unprovoked.
I froze for a single fraction of a second,
my mind refusing to process the horror.
My little girl lay on the polished floor,
clutching her face in agony.
May you like
The perfect house suddenly felt like a crime scene,
the lights reflecting off her tears.
