Third Choice

With Annie’s mother in that mood, it was best to stay silent.

The elderly woman loved Annie’s sore points. An ugly divorce, childbirth injuries… Anything was a weapon. Last year, Annie shared her financial worries. She listed her debts, started crying half-way through. Annie’s mother has been demanding money at every opportunity since. Little jabs every day.

Annie was making breakfast with three-year-old Dee behind the kitchen table, Annie’s mother in the doorway.

‘How can you run through the toilet rolls so fast?’ Annie’s mother raised one finger. ‘You use one sheet to wipe your bum. One!’

The kettle clicked. Annie poured.

Rage raised Annie’s arm before she realised what was happening. The kettle struck the wall inches from Dee’s head.

Annie’s mother beamed.

‘You’re reminding me of your father. Unhinged just like him!’ she sneered.

It was best to stay silent but Annie no longer cared.

‘Is being nasty fun? Why are you tormenting us?’

Her mother’s face – a picture of shock.

‘What ARE you talking about?’

Her tone said: you’re a failure. I will torment you and never admit it. You are food for the monster inside me.

Only two choices in this family. A monster or food.

Annie turned away and shock on her mother’s face instantly became a smirk. The old woman sauntered away. The monster got fed.

Dee sat still. Chipped paint next to her head showed where the kettle had hit the wall.

I could have killed her, Annie thought.

Suddenly lightheaded, she grabbed the table. A steel-cold thought coalesced.

This ends with me.

Annie suddenly knew they would leave. She would work her ass off. If superhuman power was needed she would find it.

Her daughter would not be a victim.

Annie's newfound determination would be honed.

And starve the monster.