The Family Origin

Chapter Fifty-Two: MAISIE POV

Joseph stormed out of the kitchen without saying a word to me. His eyes were wide, and the colour had drained from his face. His bedroom door slammed shut, but the floor continued to creak upstairs. Was he pacing around his room? Did something happen outside?

Miles came inside a few minutes later. When he looked at me, his face softened into a small smile. His brief expressions of happiness had become more common since our hunger disappeared. I was finishing preparing dinner when Miles placed his hand on my waist. His familiar scent of dirt and sweat filled my nose. He said nothing as he dragged his hand up my back. The sound of Joseph's pacing did not stop.

"Your father seems upset," I said.

Miles let out a deep breath. His hand moved up between my shoulder blades. I looked up to see he was staring down at the platter of meat.

"He knows what we did," he said.

It did not need to be explicitly said because I knew he was talking about Oliver's body. My stomach also twisted at the use of his word we. The cannibalism was my suggestion, and I was the one who had been cooking it every night. Miles felt my body shiver and ran his hand higher to the back of my neck.

"But we aren't always going to be doing this," I said. My voice wavered as I tried to comfort myself. "When we no longer need to eat this, we will stop. We would have starved."

"He is being emotional," Miles said. "I doubt he will join us for dinner. He will calm down soon."

"What if he doesn't?" I asked.

"He will."

"But, what if-"

"Maisie." Miles's voice turned cold as he silenced me. "Stop with all the questions. I know him. You need to trust me."

I bit on my lip and nodded. Miles tightened his grip on the back of my neck as he pressed his lips against the top of my head.

"This was a good idea," Miles said. "You don't need to have any doubts."

He stepped back, and I kept my head down as he went up the stairs to wash up for dinner.

–

Joseph did not eat dinner with us for three nights. Neither he nor Miles spoke when we ate breakfast together, and tension was creeping back into this household. Why were our moments of happiness brief? We would overcome this, but why were we always being tested?

I was lying in bed next to Miles. He had been snoring for over an hour, but my mind was racing with too many questions. I could not push away my anxieties far enough away to settle myself to sleep. After Briar's death, I would often sneak downstairs at night to make myself a cup of tea. It worked every time I thought I would cry over her death.

Lifting the edge of the blankets, I slid out of the bed. I tiptoed around the room to grab my robe, careful not to wake Miles. My grip on the front of my robe was tight as I crept down the stairs and into the kitchen. I froze when I saw Joseph sitting at the dining room table.

His elbows were on the table, and his hands were clasped in front of his face. His eyes were closed, but he must have heard me. The staircase was incredibly loud. I said nothing as I filled the teapot with water and placed it on the stove. A few times, I looked over my shoulder at Joseph, but his eyes remained closed. He was upset, but we have not spoken to each other in days.

I made two cups of tea and brought them over to the table. Joseph did not open his eyes until I set one cup in front of him. His hands did not move and were still clasped in front of his face. I gave him a soft smile as I sat across from him. The room was dark, but the moonlight caused shadows to streak across his face.