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Repugnance

Glory Morton

I was sitting at the dinner table, trying to pretend everything was normal, but my heart was sinking. The Mortons' dining room was always a spectacle of opulence: crystal chandeliers shone above us, casting sparkling reflections on the long, polished mahogany table. The aroma of roasted meat with fresh herbs and caramelized vegetables should be comforting, but today it only served to increase my discomfort.

I looked around the table, trying to find any signs of concern on the others' faces. Everyone knew that Bruce had dragged Nancy back home and locked her in the underground room. My husband, Charles, was sitting at the head, enjoying his red wine, oblivious to the situation. It was as if he didn't care that his daughter-in-law was being held prisoner.

Peter, Bruce and Nancy's ten-year-old son broke the silence. "Dad, when can I see Mom? I miss her."

Bruce wiped his mouth with the linen napkin, his expression as unfazed as ever. "In the right time, Peter. Now she's rec
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