“Knock?!” Eleanor scoffed, marching toward the kitchen island until she stood directly opposite me, slamming her handbag onto the counter. “This is my son’s home! And as long as he lives here, I will come and go as I please! You are going to pack your bags this instant, young lady, and you are going to sign over the title of this property to Julian as restitution for this atrocious assault! Then, and only then, will I decide whether to refrain from pressing criminal charges against you!”
Julian stood behind his mother, attempting to look imposing, but the nervous twitching of his jaw gave him away. Every time my eyes flicked toward him, he subconsciously took half a step backward.
“Criminal charges?” I echoed, letting a quiet, genuine laugh escape my lips. “Eleanor, do you even know why your son is wearing that bandage?”
“He told me everything!” Eleanor declared proudly, puffing out her chest. “He told me you flew into an unprovoked hysterical rage because he gently suggested you manage your domestic duties better! You threw a heavy ceramic dish directly at his head!”
I slowly turned my laptop around so the screen faced Eleanor.
“Julian,” I said softly, “would you like to tell your mother the truth, or should I play the recording I made while I had you pinned to the floor in a hammerlock?”
Eleanor’s rant froze in her throat. She blinked, looking between the screen and her son. “A… a hammerlock?”
