Chapter 3: I’m not a thief

~Rose ~

“So that's it? Because I clean the display, I'm automatically guilty?”

“You tell me.”

“I don't have your watch!”

“Then where is it?”

“I don't know!”

I felt my voice vibrate, my lungs burning as I fought to keep myself from breaking down.

“I swear to you, Mr Scott, I didn't take it.”

He scoffed.

“We gave you a roof over your head, Rose. We provide food for you, clothes to wear.”

“I’ve worked for every bit of it.”

“Worked?” Martha laughed bitterly behind her husband. “You call cleaning a few shelves and polishing antiques work?”

I stared at her in disbelief.

“I’ve worked here every single day for seven years.”

“And yet you still couldn't be grateful.”

Mr Scott’s face hardened.

“I mean if it wasn't for me, I bet you would still be in the junkyard where I found you.”

My throat tightened.

“But no, instead. This is how you chose to repay us, stealing from us to feed that bastard son of yours.”

Something inside me finally snapped.

“Don’t you talk about my son like that,” I spat, stepping forward until I was barely inches from him, my heart was hammering so hard I thought it would snap out of my ribs. But that didn't stop me.

“You can call the police then! Call them! Let them search me! Let them search this entire room! I don't have your damn watch!”

“We don't need the police to throw you out.” Martha sneering, appearing behind her husband with her arms crossed over her chest, her thin lips curled into a wicked line.

“We want you out. Now.”

She pointed towards the door. “Leave Rose, go back to the garbage when you belong.”

My fingers curled into a fist.

I had spent years trying to please this woman, swallowing her numerous complaints— ‘Rose, you don’t talk to customers that way, customers are always right.’ ‘Rose, you didn’t scrub the floor well enough, do it again!’ ‘Rose, you’re too slow. How many times do I have to tell you to work faster?’

And somehow, after all that, I was nothing to her, nothing to them.

“Mama?”

Lucas’ tiny voice came behind me.

I turned slightly and saw him peeking out from behind my back, his little fingers knotting into the hem of his tiny sweater.

He looked up at Mr Scott, his small brow furrowed in confusion.

“Mr Scott, My mama didn't steal anything,” He said, his voice was small but remarkably firm for a six-year-old. “She told me stealing is bad. She told me that if you take things that aren't yours, your heart gets heavy and turns black.”

He glanced at me.

“Mama's heart is white and bright.”

My heart melted.

“Show them Mama.”

Tears immediately spilled over my eyelashes and down my cheeks.

“Lucas baby…”

I crouched down and pulled him closer.

“Shh, It's okay, baby.”

“No, it isn’t!” Mr Scott’s voice cut through the room, pointing a thick, dirty finger at my son. “You keep your mouth shut, boy.

Lucas flinched and pressed himself against me.

“You're a living proof of the kind of woman your mother is. A bitch with a bastard son. No father. No name. Living off my basement like rats—”

Before he could complete those words.

I slapped him.

Hard.

Across the face, throwing those words back down his throat.

The crack of my palm against his cheek echoed through the room.

Everything went silent.

Martha’s mouth fell open and closed and opened again but I ignored her.

“You don't fucking talk about my son.” I screamed, stepping right at his swollen red face, his massive size towering over me but I didn't care.

“Say whatever you want to me. Call me a slut, call me a thief, throw us out into the cold, I don't fucking care. But you do not get to speak to my son like that.”

His eyes grew wide like he was still trying to register what I just did.

“Get out!” He yelled, grabbing my duffel bag off the floor and throwing it up the stairs. It landed on the top floor, busted open and scattered Lucas’ coloring books and clothes across the floorboard. “Get the fuck out! Both of you! If I see your face— If I fuck smell you around here… Oh, you won't like what I’ll do to you.”

He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh, leaving bruises there. I gasped, trying to wrench myself free, but he yanked me towards the stairs.

“Mama!” Lucas cried out, his little clutching my waist, trying to pull me back. “Stop! Please! You're hurting my mommy!”

“Let go of me!” I cried out.

But he didn't stop, he kept pulling me, my feet dragging across the rough floor.

Then.