Nancy Helwart always found a way to lace her words with poison. She could wound without raising her voice, stab without drawing blood. Her favorite target was Linsy. Belittling her gave Nancy the smug sense of superiority she craved, like sipping from a glass of wine she’d been aging for years sweet to her taste, bitter to anyone else’s.

It wasn’t that Linsy reacted outwardly most times she didn’t. She would hold her head high, lips pressed into a dignified line, and let the insults ...