Goat

Part IV - Harriet

One night, a knock arrived at our door; my husband rose from his seat and opened it, expecting to see a familiar face, but was instead greeted by a stranger — a face familiar to me. I began to feel myself panic, and tried my best to hide it.
The woman at the door asked if a "Charlotte Taylor" lived in the house. She looked confused, until she saw me peeping from behind the wall. She raised her voice to an obnoxious level. "Ah! Charlotte! Shy as ever I see! And with a husband! Who would've thought?" She was in the house now. "And who's this little one?" she asked, gazing upon Olivia.
I did not speak, not even to ask why she was in our home or request she leave.
My husband, kind as he was, asked if she would stay for dinner. She was delighted to.
She didn't eat much, but just her presence bothered me. I thought I was done with her, but there she was, at our table, indulging in the food I made for me and my husband.
When she was done eating her small portion, she wiped her face with the back of her hand and smiled at me. She asked again our baby's name, and when I didn't answer for the second time, my husband cut in. Upon hearing the name, the woman cheered and giggled maniacally, then asked to hold her. I held Olivia closer, tighter, almost too tight, and still did not respond.
"Pardon my wife, it appears she's become rather possessive of our Olivia. Even I barely ever hold her." He chuckled, but lightly, a little nervously.
The woman jolted with a realisation. "I'm so sorry! I'm Harriet, an old friend of Charlotte's!"
Old friend. How she said that phrase, as if we were as close as sisters. I had to speak.
  Maybe I chose my words poorly, for I had tried to be as kind as possible, but her face expressed such spite.
She suddenly turned chirpy again. "Remember Oliver? Kind man, he was. We stumbled upon he and Tom as we wandered the wetlands. They needed help. Remember, Charlotte? How we tended to their every need?"
"Yes, Oliver was kind," I said sharply, adamant that yes, Oliver was indeed kind.
"Remember how Tom died?"
"Tom hung himself, Harriet."
"I was there, don't forget. Oliver hung Tom. And how did Oliver get the rope, Charlotte?"
My husband rose from his seat, enraged.
I looked up at him, trying to fight back tears but they nonetheless fell from my eyes like waterfalls. "I was young, I thought it was okay! Tom was so mean!"

I gasped the harshest gasp, and seconds later a surge of pain rushed through my mouth and throat.