A sharp sound echoed through the room. Michael’s face burned with the sting of his mother’s slap, a red imprint blazing across his cheek. He froze, staring at her in shock as she lifted her hand again.

"Am I not speaking the truth?" he asked bitterly.

"How dare you talk to me like that?" Miranda’s hand shook, but this time she let it fall. The fury in her eyes flickered, clouded by grief and regret. She had lost control. She had struck her own son.

Yet Michael’s words cut deep. They ...