"Why don't you start with your own mother?"
Clara froze. The words hit harder than Elena intended. Or perhaps exactly as hard as she intended. "My mother?"
Elena finally looked at her. "I think you know what I mean."
The color drained slightly from Clara's face. Of course she knew. Everyone in the Hale family knew.
Maybe not every detail. Maybe not every wound. But enough.
Enough to understand. Enough to hate Victor Vaughn. Enough to recognize what years of silence had done to Isabella Hale.
Clara swallowed. "That's different."
A faint smile appeared on Elena's lips. It wasn't a happy smile. It was the kind of smile people wore when they already knew the answer. "Is it?"
The question lingered between them.
Neither woman spoke. Because Clara suddenly found herself standing on the wrong side of her own argument.
Hadn't Isabella remained silent?
Hadn't she endured alone?
Hadn't she refused to fight back for years?
