What Did You Do?

Chapter 2: What Did You Do?

Lizzie

“What did you do?!”

My mother’s voice sliced through the hallway before I had both feet inside the house. The door had barely clicked shut behind me when she was in my face, eyes blazing, breath sharp with fury.

“What did you do to Kenneth?!”

I didn’t answer. I stepped around her instead, slipping off my heels with deliberate calm and placing them neatly by the shoe rack.

If I moved slowly enough, maybe the night would rewind itself. Maybe this would turn into any other evening in this suffocating house where silence was safer than truth.

“I am talking to you, Elizabeth Marie Foster!” she shrieked.

I stopped at the base of the stairs.

My father appeared from the living room, newspaper still folded in his hand, reading glasses perched low on his nose. He took in the scene—my mother trembling with rage, me rigid and clearly exhausted.

“Carol,” he said gently, “why don’t you let her freshen up first? I don’t think Lizzie would have done something disrespectful if Kenneth hadn’t done something to offend her.”

It was the usual script. Calm father. Explosive mother. Me in the crossfire.

But tonight, the script wasn’t working.

“Stop making excuses for her!” my mother snapped, rounding on him. “That’s why she turned out like this!” She jabbed a finger in my direction as if I were something rotten she’d discovered in her pantry. “You keep excusing her behavior until one day you’ll realize you’ve done her more harm than good when she turns thirty without a husband and no one wants her!”

The words hit like pebbles—small, but painful. “Is that all that matters to you?” I asked quietly.

My mother blinked, thrown by the softness.

“Is that all I am to you?” My voice steadied. “A heifer on a market stall?”

Dad winced. “Lizzie, please. Go upstairs. Change. Your mother and I will discuss this like adults. The neighbors don’t need to hear—”

“Why?” I asked him, turning fully now. “Why shouldn’t I talk? I am an adult.”

“You see?” Mom cried. “You see that, Eric? Now she talks back to you too! My God. Where did I go wrong?”

I laughed under my breath. “What’s so wrong with being thirty and unmarried, Mom? Because you got married at twenty-one doesn’t mean I will. Because Dad was laid off and we’re barely making ends meet doesn’t mean I should be sold off to a man like Kenneth Greene.”

Dad inhaled sharply. “Lizzie—”

“Did he tell you what he said to me?” I pressed.

My mother’s eyes turned cold. “Who cares what he said? He’s a man.”

Silence fell.

“It’s your duty to understand your husband and act accordingly,” she continued, voice rising. “You threw wine on him! You spat on him in public! You created a scandal when you know he’s running for mayor next year! How can you be so stupid?”

The humiliation of the evening rushed back—the smug curl of Kenneth’s lips, the way he’d leaned across the candlelit table and murmured that he didn't like being challenged. That my “little writing hobby” would come to an end. That basically a mayor’s wife didn’t embarrass her husband by having opinions.

Maybe I had overreacted. But the wine had felt good.

“I don’t care,” I said, and this time I didn’t bother keeping my voice down. “I don’t care about his campaign or his reputation or his future. I don’t care about that pig or his political ambitions, and I certainly will never be his wife. That is my decision.”

Dad dragged a hand down his face. “Oh good heavens.”

“Your decision?” Mom echoed, her voice turning dangerously calm.

“Yes.” I met her stare without flinching. “And nothing you do will change my mind. I’m not marrying Kenneth. I’m not going on another date. Tonight was the last time I let you parade me around like some prized breeding stock.”

Her lips trembled. Not with hurt—with fury.

“And while we’re at it,” I continued, the dam fully broken now, “stop discussing my private life with Mrs. Greene or any of the other rich women you suck up to. I am not your social ladder, mom.”

The slap came out of nowhere.

One second I was standing tall. The next, my cheek exploded with heat and my head snapped to the side. The taste of iron bloomed in my mouth.

Dad stepped forward. “Carol!”

“You ungrateful child!” my mother spat. “After everything we’ve done for you? After the sacrifices your father and I made? This is how you repay us the one time we ask for your help?”

I slowly straightened. My cheek throbbed, but I refused to touch it.

“You say it like you’re asking me to pass you the salt,” I said, voice trembling with contained rage. “You’re asking me to give up my life so you can mingle with high society. Cut it out, Mom. Emotional blackmail doesn’t work on me. Never did. Never will.”

Her nostrils flared. For a long moment, we simply stared at each other.

Then she said, very softly, “I never should have let you stay with Savannah.”

I blinked. “What does Savannah have to do with this?”

“She filled your head with nonsense. Independence. Freedom. Career before marriage.” My mother laughed bitterly. “Look at her now. She's happily married to a billionaire. Who's the fool now, Lizzie?”

“Leave her out of this,” I snapped. “She’s not to be blamed. You are!”

“You want to bring embarrassment to our family?”

“No,” I said, stepping closer despite the sting still burning across my face. “The embarrassment is a mother branding her daughter a virgin bride to impress wealthy neighbors. I’m ashamed of you.”

If the words cut, she didn’t show it.

Instead, she straightened her shoulders and delivered her verdict like a judge handing down a sentence.

“Tomorrow morning, Kenneth Greene and his family will be here. You will apologize to him and his parents for your disgraceful behavior today.”

My pulse stumbled.

“Then,” she continued, “you will go home with them. Your wedding will be in one week. Those were the demands from the Greenes.”

The room seemed to tilt.