Chapter 8 - The Final Sunday Dinner
The warm pendant lighting illuminated the dining room once again. The table was set perfectly. The smell of fresh roast filled the air.
Sarah, Greg, and Lily sat down at the table, completely unaware that their luxurious, parasitic lives were about to violently implode.
"The roast looks dry again, Carolyn," Greg complained immediately, picking up his fork with an arrogant sneer. "Seriously, you have all day to cook, you'd think you could get it right by now."
Sarah laughed, adjusting her cream sweater. "Just eat it, Greg. She tries her best, even if it’s not very good."
Carolyn didn't sit down. She stood at the head of the table, her hands resting on the polished wood her late husband had built. She looked at her daughter, her son-in-law, and her grandchild. She felt absolutely zero pity for them.
"I didn't cook this for you, Greg," Carolyn said, her voice dropping all pretense of submission. It was hard, authoritative, and chilling.
Greg paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. "Excuse me?"
May you like
"You're not eating in my house ever again," Carolyn stated firmly. "In fact, you have exactly sixty seconds to enjoy the warmth of this room before you never see it again."
👉 Who is standing right outside the front door waiting for Carolyn's signal?
