Chapter 3 - The Artifacts of Control
Brenda stared at the satchel as if it were a coiled snake. "Mark? What is that?"
"This," Mark said, his voice terrifyingly steady, "is everything you ever took from me. Everything you thought you 'fixed' because you knew better than I did."
He opened the bag. He didn't dump the contents; he pulled them out one by one, laying them on the tablecloth.
First, a small, model airplane. The wings were snapped off, glued back together in a way that ruined the aerodynamics. "My grandfather gave me this when I was seven," Mark said. "You threw it away because it 'cluttered' my room. I found it in the trash, taped it back together, and hid it. I was eight years old, and you taught me that my treasures didn't matter if they didn't fit your aesthetic."
Brenda’s face turned blotchy. "That was years ago, Mark. You’re being ridiculous."
Mark didn't stop. He pulled out a stack of letters. "These are the applications to the art program I wanted to join in college. You intercepted them and burned them because you decided I was going to be an accountant. I never even got the rejection letters, Mom. You chose my path for me."
"I did that for your own good!" she hissed, her voice rising in panic. "Accountancy is a stable career! You’re successful now because of me!"
"I’m successful in spite of you," Mark corrected. He reached into the bag and pulled out the final item. It wasn't a toy or a letter. It was a pair of heavy, industrial-grade steel clippers—the same ones she had used on Leo.
He had retrieved them from her car while we were in the house.
May you like
Brenda gasped, her hand flying to her throat. "Mark, put those away! That’s... that’s absurd!"
"You love cutting things that don't belong to you, Mom," Mark said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You love editing people until they look the way you want them to. You did it to me for twenty years. You did it to Leo today."
