Her mother looked up. Her eyes, usually so warm, were like chips of ice. She stood up, her back straightening with a dignity that the apocalypse usually stripped away from people. She seemed to have aged ten years more than when Paula had last seen her.
"Let me try, Mom," Paula said, reaching for the door. "Give me the bowl, I will make him eat it."
Her mother swatted her hand away with surprising force. "Don't touch me," she hissed. "And don't talk to your brother. You've made your choice, Paula. You've crawled into bed with that monster of a father you have. You're a traitor to me and everything good I ever tried to teach you. I always knew that one of you will end up like him but you. I am surprised because I raised you to be better than this...how can you bite the hand of people that welcomed you into their home and treated you well? How can you accept your father's greedy ways which have no end? You....You disgust me."
