That almost made me laugh.
“I caused food poisoning from three miles away?”
There was a pause.
“What?”
“The kids who ate first are vomiting. My kids didn’t eat. Think about that.”
On the other end of the call, my father was breathing hard. Behind him, I could hear crying, retching, chairs scraping against the floor, and my mother wailing that she did not want to go to the hospital.
I lowered my voice. “Do not call me again unless a doctor needs medical information. And do not ever blame my children for the consequences of your cruelty.”
“Claire—”
I hung up.
A Meal Without Permission
Inside Rosie’s Kitchen, an older waitress with silver hair led us to a booth by the window. Her name tag said Marlene. She looked at Noah’s empty plate, then Lily’s red eyes, then my face.
“Rough day?” she asked gently.
