Chapter 1 - The Second Box
My name is Nora Hale.
I was twenty-eight years old when my mother-in-law tried to put a dog collar around my five-week-old daughter’s neck.
The occasion was supposed to be a newborn welcome party.
Not a christening.
Not a baby shower.
June had already been born.
Five exhausting, astonishing weeks earlier.
She slept in pieces.
Fed constantly.
Hated being placed anywhere that was not touching another human being.
And somehow looked deeply offended by daylight.
My husband Wesley loved her with the stunned intensity of a man who still could not believe the hospital had allowed us to leave with an actual baby.
Wesley was thirty.
Kind in quiet situations.
Responsible at work.
Patient with strangers.
And, as I would finally understand that afternoon, almost useless whenever his mother turned cruelty into humor.
The party took place in the sunroom of Margaret Hale’s house outside Philadelphia.
Glass walls.
White stone floor.
Expensive furniture nobody sat on comfortably.
Champagne.
Flowers.
Silver gift table.
Thirty adult guests.
No children except June.
Margaret insisted newborns needed:
“a proper family introduction.”
I had wanted six people and takeout at our house.
Margaret wanted engraved invitations.
Wesley said:
“Let her have this.”
I was too tired to argue.
That sentence had become dangerous in our marriage long before I understood how dangerous.
Let her have this.
A dinner.
A holiday.
A key.
A naming suggestion.
A photograph.
An opinion about breastfeeding.
One thing at a time.
Nothing worth a fight.
Until enough small concessions build a road directly into your life.
June wore a ridiculous cream princess outfit Margaret had bought.
Soft enough.
I checked.
A tiny decorative crown sat on her head for perhaps twelve seconds before sliding over one ear.
Guests loved it.
I tolerated it.
June slept against my chest beneath a pale newborn blanket.
Then Margaret announced:
“One more gift.”
I looked at Wesley.
He looked confused.
Good.
At least he had not obviously helped choose it.
Margaret walked toward the gift table.
She was sixty.
Elegant silver-blond hair.
Midnight-blue evening dress.
Pearl earrings.
The kind of woman who could insult you in a tone that made strangers wonder whether they had missed a compliment.
She lifted a small black velvet box.
Several guests began laughing before she even opened it.
That was my first warning.
Not everyone.
Five or six.
People who clearly knew.
Margaret turned toward me.
“Oh, Nora, don’t make that face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you decide fun has personally attacked you.”
More laughter.
She opened the velvet box.
Inside lay a black leather pet collar.
Not baby jewelry.
Not a ribbon.
A pet collar.
Small.
With a silver buckle.
For a toy dog perhaps.
My arms tightened around June automatically.
Margaret lifted it.
“Look.”
I said nothing.
She held the collar beside my sleeping daughter.
Then smiled.
“Learn your place, little dog!”
Several people laughed.
One man choked on champagne.
A woman near the window said:
“Margaret.”
Warning.
Too soft.
Wesley stood beside the fireplace.
He had stopped smiling.
Good.
Still not moving.
Margaret stepped closer.
June woke.
Her face tightened.
Then she cried.
I turned my body.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s a joke.”
“Put it away.”
“Oh, please.”
She reached toward June.
I shifted again, shielding my daughter completely.
“Get away from my daughter!”
The room changed.
Laughter stopped.
Margaret’s smile remained.
“That tone is unnecessary.”
“The collar is unnecessary.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
She reached again.
Not touching June.
Trying.
I caught Margaret’s wrist.
“Stop.”
Her face hardened.
“Take your hand off me.”
“Back away.”
“I said—”
I slapped her.
Hard.
One open-handed strike.
Her head turned.
Someone gasped.
June screamed louder against my chest.
I immediately hated that she had felt my body move with the impact.
Margaret stared at me.
Red spreading across one cheek.
“It’s only a joke.”
I took the collar from her hand.
Dropped it directly into the champagne glass she had left on the gift table.
The black leather disappeared halfway into sparkling wine.
Then I swept the empty velvet box and several ridiculous party decorations off the space between us.
Paper flowers.
Ribbon.
A silver sign reading:
WELCOME, PRINCESS JUNE.
Everything hit the floor.
“Drink your own sick joke!”
Nobody laughed now.
Margaret recoiled.
Wesley finally moved.
“Nora.”
I grabbed the diaper bag.
“Not now.”
“Nora, wait.”
I secured June against my chest.
Checked her crown had fallen? Already gone. Good.
Her blanket remained between us.
I headed toward the sunroom door.
Wesley stepped in front of me.
“Can we just talk for one second?”
I knocked his hand away when he reached for my arm.
“Get out of my way, coward!”
His face changed.
Good.
The word was meant to hurt.
It did.
I moved around him.
Then something beneath the gift table caught my eye.
Black velvet.
Another box.
Identical.
Mostly hidden behind a stack of tissue paper and an unopened bottle of champagne.
I stopped.
Margaret saw where I was looking.
The color left her face.
Completely.
Not anger.
Fear.
She lunged.
“No.”
I got there first.
Grabbed the second velvet box.
Margaret caught the edge of the table.
Wesley went pale.
I looked at both of them.
Then at the box in my hand.
May you like
“Who was this collar for?!”
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