Well, this is fun. The night before I started writing this chapter, I was exposed to someone who tested positive for COVID-19 the next morning. So, depending on when this chapter is posted, you might or might not get more chapters while I am quarantined with nothing to do. Anything so I don't die from boredom before I find out whether I have COVID or not. I'm vaccinated, but you can never be too careful. TRIGGER WARNING: child abuse

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Chapter 5: Her Father's Daughter

August, Mid-1970s

Millie Brown looked on as she did the dishes, nonchalantly observing. Her own mother, Meghan McAilin was visiting and the woman could be a bit... prickly at times. Still, she had raised her well and hadn't tolerated any disobedience in her children. Because of this, Millie's fourteen-year-old son, Basil, was locked in his room to make sure he'd do his homework. Her four-year-old son, Harold, was currently making a scene. He had broken his grandmother's favorite vas and the woman was currently yelling at him. That caused Harold to start crying, which led to Meghan yelling at him even more loudly. Like a little girl, Harold only started crying harder. "Shut up or I'll give you something to cry about!" Meghan snapped.

Harold only kept crying. Instead of saying something, the grandmother went outside. A minute or so later, she returned with a switch. She yanked Harold up by the arm, ripped his shirt off, and raised her arm, preparing to hit him.

"Nana, nooo!" Harold sobbed.

"Shut up!" Meghan barked.

She then proceeded to strike the small boy. He screamed with every hit. His screaming only resulted in his grandmother yelling at him to shut up. In the background, Millie could hear her older son shouting her younger son's name. There was pounding coming from Basil's door and seconds later, there was a crash as the teen literally broke his door down. The skinny fourteen-year-old pulled his grandmother off of his brother and when he saw him, his eyes widened. Harold had been beaten so hard that he was bleeding. Immediately, Basil stood between his grandmother and his little brother. "Move, boy!" Meghan snarled.

"No!" Basil said firmly.

Meghan wound back and slapped Basil- hard. She prepared to slap him again, but the fourteen-year-old caught her wrist and, with surprising strength for such a skinny-looking boy, squeezed it tightly in his hand. His blue-grey eyes hardened with fury. In a cold, wrathful voice, Basil said, "If you hit me or my little brother again, I'll break your fucking arm."

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October, 2019

Izzy Foreman let out a sigh from the back of her father's blue 2008 Honda Jazz. "Why do we have to visit that woman again?"

"That woman is your grandmother." Clara replied. "She's not going to be around for much longer and she wants to get to know her grandkids before she passes."

"You hate her, though." Izzy pointed out.

"Well, dying can change a person." Clara said.

"I suppose that if she decides to be a bitch again, at least she'll be dead soon." Izzy huffed.

"Izzy Foreman..." Clara said warningly.

"Iddy!" Jack piped up from his carseat.

"She probably wants to get to know Jack and not me." Izzy huffed.

"Izzy, you're her granddaughter." Clara said. "She has to have accepted it by now."

"Whatever." Izzy grumbled, returning her attention to her Nintendo Switch.

"Look on the bright side." Clara said with an awkward smile. "It's only one weekend."

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Izzy and Clara arrived just in time to see Bob, the man who came over a few times a day to care for Millicent, drive away. The fourteen-year-old got her bag and carried it to the door with her. Clara, of course, was holding Jack on her hip with one hand and Jack's baby bag with the other. Holding a deep breath, Izzy rang the doorbell. It was a few minutes before a rather frail-looking woman in her 80s answered the door. She had a passing resemblance to Basil, but that was where the similarities ended. The old woman looked at the two women standing outside and frowned. "Clara." She said tonelessly. "Isabel."

It was then that she seemed to spot the baby. "Oh my, is this little Jack?" Millicent cooed

"Yep." Izzy replied.

"I didn't ask you." Millicent said coldly.

Izzy shot her mother a pleading look. Clara simply shrugged. The two followed Millicent into the house. "So," Millicent said, "I figured that you'd only bring the baby over."

"Well, Izzy wanted to come over, too." Clara lied.

The fourteen-year-old in question shot her mother a glare. "Right." Millicent said dryly. "I'm sure that she'll find something to do here."

There was some brief, very awkward catching up before Clara finally had to leave. "I'll see you tomorrow!" the thirty-something mother said before leaving.

When the door closed, Izzy then spoke up. "So, Gran-"

"That's Mrs. Brown to you, girl." Millicent said with a frown.

"You said that you wanted to see your grandchildren." Izzy protested.

"I said that I wanted to see my grandson." the old woman said sharply.

"I'm your granddaughter." Izzy pointed out.

"You have no proof of that." Millicent huffed. "Now come, I need your help making biscuits for the baby."

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Jack was in a play-pen with his toys, watching the telly and playing happily. Izzy, on the other hand, was elbow-deep in dough. "Did you remember to add the eggs, girl?" Millicent asked.

"Yes." Izzy sighed. "And my name is Izzy."

"You need to respect your elders." Millicent said. "That includes not correcting an adult."

Izzy fought the urge to roll her eyes. The old woman was just as overbearing as always. She seemed to dislike her, but she had been doting on Jack for the entire time that they were there. The old bitch seemed convinced that Izzy was not Basil's daughter. "Gran-" Izzy tried to say, but Millicent interrupted her.

"Mrs. Brown." Millicent said sharply. "And what do you want?"

"Does this dough need more oats?" Izzy asked.

"Are you doubting my recipe, girl?" Millicent said with a frown.

"No." Izzy sighed. "I just wanted a bit of clarification."

"Well," Millicent said, "If you want clarification, then clarify why you don't dress like a normal girl."

Izzy raised a brow. She was wearing a black hoodie with nothing on it. She was wearing distressed black skinny jeans and a black T-shirt with a skeleon hand in the 'rock on' sign and the words 'PUNK ROCK NEVER DIES'. On her feet were her typical high-top Chucks, only this time in red plaid. A lot of the money she got from walking dogs went to her favorite type of shoes. Between gifts from others and her own purchases, she had over a half a dozen pairs of Converse Chuck Taylor All Star High-Top trainers. Finishing out the look was a black beanie decorated with an enamel pin of a zombie eating a donut. Izzy couldn't see anything about her look that wasn't normal. "This is normal." the fourteen-year-old pointed out.

"Normal?" Millicent scoffed. "You look more ridiculous than Basil did in his punk phase."

"My dad-" Izzy tried to say, but her grandmother interrupted him.

"You have no proof that he is your father." Millicent said coldly. "His decision to take you in is admirable, but he needs to stop lying to himself and everyone else."

Izzy let out a sigh and continued to hand-mix the dough. Hopefully the biscuits would turn out good. From what her father had told her, though his mother could be a bit of a handful at times, she made the best oat biscuits. The lanky teen just had to stick it out until Sunday, when her mother would pick her and Jack up. Izzy still questioned her mum's decision to let her get to know her paternal grandmother, but it could be worse. There were things that were slightly worse than hanging out with Millicent Brown. Tetanus, a sulfuric acid enema, and medieval torture devices were a few examples. The woman had cancer, though, so Izzy would have to make some time for her unless she really fucked up. No matter what the old hag said, Izzy knew the truth: Basil was definitely her dad.

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They had just gotten back from Church on Sunday. Millicent was busy playing with her precious little grandchild, she could hear Clara's girl in the kitchen cooking lunch. It was some kind of stew and, to her suprise, the girl's cooking didn't smell that bad. It was about time for lunch, though. After a bit of a struggle, she picked Jack up and carried him into the kitchen. She secured him into the high-chair before heading over to the cupboard. She pulled out a tub of powdered formula, which she had purchased for such a visit. Clara's girl looked at her out of the corner of the eye and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Making some formula for my grandson." Millicent replied.

"Is it soy formula?" Clara's girl asked.

"Of course not." Millicent said. "Why would it be?"

Clara's girl turned around and said, "Jack is allergic to cow's milk."

Millicent rolled her eyes and said, "Don't be daft, girl. You can't be allergic to cow's milk. He'll be fine."

Clara's girl took a step forward and said, "I said that he's allergic."

"Don't correct me, girl." Millicent said with a frown.

"You can't make that for him." the teen said firmly.

"I'm going to make this for my precious grandson and you're not going to stop me just because you insist on being a brat." Millicent said sternly.

Then, to Millicent's surprise, Clara's girl smacked the tub of formula powder out of her hand and snapped, "You can't make that! You'll hurt him!"

Millicent replied to this by back-handing the girl with surprising strength for a cancer patient. The girl had the audacity to do that to her? She wasn't even related to her by blood! Hopefully, smacking her a bit would show her who was in charge. She raised her hand to strike Clara's girl again, but the teen responded in a surprising way. The girl's eyes hardened and in a cold, wrathful voice, she said, "If you hit me again or hurt my little brother, I'll break your fucking arm."

It was then that Millicent saw it. The look in the girl's eyes and the expression on her face were the same look that she had seen over forty years ago. The girl may have Clara's face, but the color of her eyes, look in her eyes... that was all one hundred per cent Basil. Millicent lowered her hand and did not strike the girl again. The old woman left the girl alone and not a word was said between them for the next two hours until Clara showed up to pick up her children.

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On the car ride home, Clara looked at her daughter in the passenger seat. "What happened?" she asked.

"Nothing." Izzy replied.

Clara knew her daughter and she could tell that she was lying. "Isabel..."

"Just some drama. She still doesn't like me." Izzy said. "I don't think she'll bother me anymore."

Izzy raised her head and looked at her mother. Even from the shadows of her hoodie, Clara could see a bruise forming on her face. She immediately thought about turning the car around, going back, and beating that old woman's arse. Izzy seemed to read her mind and shook her head. "Let's just go home, Mum, and never talk to Millicent again."

Clara nodded and returned her attention to the road. When she was able to, she would call Basil and tell him what his mum had done to his daughter. If anything would convince him to completely cut his mum off, that would be it. The thirty-something mother felt a crushing wave of guilt that she had been so short-sighted and failed to protect her daughter from her mother-in-law. She should have seen this coming. It would never happen again, though. If Clara Foreman had her way, Millicent Brown would never see her grandchildren ever again. If she did drag her sorry arse to visit them, old woman with cancer or not, that old woman would not be welcome. Of that, she was sure of. That old woman would never hurt Clara's children ever, ever again.