Chapter 7 - The Timer on the Screen
Emma kept her foot flat over the top edge of the phone, leaving the bottom microphone exposed to the room while keeping the glowing screen hidden from the angle of Daniel’s eye.
The timer moved past fifteen minutes.
Every insult, every instruction, every scrape of the chair, and every sound of chewing had been captured on the digital file. The Ventresca family had spent forty years building a wall of social invulnerability out of money, land, and silent compliance. They believed that what happened inside their dining room stayed inside their dining room because no one outside had the standing to question them.
They had forgotten that modern record-keeping fits in a pocket.
Emma took a shallow breath, feeling the jute line press into her ribs, and slowly rotated her left wrist again.
The skin over her wrist bone scraped against the rough hemp, a sharp, burning sensation that made her vision flicker with red spots, but she didn't stop. She squeezed her thumb into the hollow of her palm, narrowing her hand as much as humanly possible, and pulled upward.
Slide.
The knot gave way by half an inch. The secondary loop that Daniel had pulled tight around her left forearm slipped down over the joint of her thumb.
Across the table, Caroline set her coffee cup down with a sharp clatter.
"Right," Caroline said, checking her watch again. "The photographer is finishing the setup in the drawing room. Daniel, once the crew gives the signal, keep her back here in the dining room until we're finished with the main family set. I don't want her wandering into the frame looking like that."
Daniel nodded once, his eyes still fixed on the table. "She's not going anywhere until we're finished."
Emma lifted her head. She didn't hide her face anymore. She looked directly at her husband, her voice clear, distinct, and deliberate—projecting every syllable toward the microphone resting six inches below her left boot.
"Why did you take my phone, Daniel?" Emma asked.
The question was loud enough that Aunt Susan flinched. Uncle Robert paused with his glass halfway to his mouth.
Daniel snapped his head toward her, his jaw tightening with irritation. "Because you were going to make a scene, Emma. I told you that fifteen minutes ago."
"I was going to call my sister," Emma said, her voice dropping into a clean, measured cadence that left no room for misunderstanding. "I was going to leave because your sister told me I was too fat and swollen to be in your family photographs."
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Caroline interjected, walking back toward the table with her arms crossed over her cream jumpsuit. "We were trying to enjoy one nice anniversary dinner for Mother and Dad without everything becoming about your pregnancy and your endless physical complaints. You have been looking for an opportunity to play the martyr all day."
"I am tied to a dining chair with decorative rope, Caroline," Emma said, staring her sister-in-law straight in the eyes. "My wrists are bound behind my back. There is a rope tied across my seven-month belly. Is that also me playing the martyr?"
"It's you being restrained until you learn how to behave like an adult in a civilized house," Caroline spat back, her voice rising in tone.
Around the table, the atmosphere finally began to fracture.
Aunt Susan looked from the rope binding Emma’s stomach to Daniel’s sullen, defensive face. For two hours, Susan had accepted the narrative Caroline had constructed—that Emma was having a hormonal breakdown, that she was trying to ruin the dinner, that Daniel was simply "managing" a difficult situation.
Now, looking at Emma’s cold, absolute composure, hearing the plain, unadorned physical facts stated aloud, the illusion shattered.
"Daniel," Susan said, her voice trembling with sudden, genuine horror. "Daniel, untie her. This is... this is insane."
May you like
"Stay out of it, Aunt Susan," Daniel said, though his own voice sounded less certain now. He looked down at Emma’s waist, where the cream jute cut through the blue silk. "She's... she's almost calm now. As soon as the photos are done, I'll untie her."
"You won't have to," Emma said.
