Gustavo stared at her. This was off-script. Mommy was supposed to give him sweets when he broke things.

He crossed his chubby arms. "No! I'll tell Daddy!"

"Daddy isn't here," Gloria said. "I am."

She grabbed his shoulder. It wasn't a gentle maternal touch. It was a firm grip that said I am bigger than you.

She spun him around.

"Naughty corner. Now," she commanded.

She pointed to a small antique stool in the corner of the foyer, facing the blank wall.

Gustavo's eyes went wide. "No!"

He tried to pull away, but Gloria's grip was iron. She marched him to the stool and sat him down.

"You do not move until the timer rings," she said.

She pulled out her phone and set a timer for five minutes. She placed the phone on a nearby table where he could see the countdown but couldn't reach it.

Jones had stopped on the stairs. He was watching, fascinated. He expected Gloria to hit the kid-she had a temper-but this calculated discipline was new.

Gustavo tried to stand up.

Gloria turned on her heel. She unleashed the "Death Glare."

She squatted down so she was eye-level with him.

"If you move off that stool," she whispered, "I will throw away all the iPads."

Gustavo froze.

To a Gen Alpha child, the threat of losing the iPad was worse than death. It was worse than no ice cream. It was the end of the world.

"No..." he whimpered. "Not the iPad."

"All of them," Gloria confirmed. "Even the one with the blue cover."

Horror washed over Gustavo's face. He sat back down, his butt hitting the wood hard. He began to sob quietly, defeated.

Mrs. Higgins stepped forward, trembling. "Madam, he's just a baby. Perhaps a cookie..."

Gloria raised a hand without looking at the nanny. "Silence."

Mrs. Higgins retreated.

Gloria stood up and walked over to where the toy car lay on the floor.

She picked it up. It was heavy. It could have broken a bone.

She walked to the foot of the stairs and looked up at Jones.

He was rubbing his shin. There would be a bruise tomorrow.

"Are you hurt?" she asked.

Jones looked suspicious. He narrowed his eyes. "Why do you care?"

"Because he's your brother, and he assaulted you," she said simply.

Jones scoffed. "Half-brother."

"Blood doesn't justify bruises," she retorted.

Jones stared at her. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.

Ding.

The timer on the phone chirped cheerfully.

Gloria turned back to Gustavo. He was still sitting on the stool, sniffling, terrified of the iPad purge.

"Time's up," she said.

She walked over to him. "Now. Apologize."

Gustavo crossed his arms, burying his chin in his chest. He refused to speak.

He pouted, his lower lip trembling like a leaf in the wind.

Gloria knew standard reasoning wouldn't work. He was five, and he had been raised by wolves (or rather, by an indulgent, neglectful mother).

She needed psychological warfare.

She leaned in close. She lowered her voice to a spooky, raspy whisper.

"Do you know what happens to little boys who don't say sorry?"

Gustavo looked at her sideways. Curiosity warred with stubbornness.

The staff leaned in. The room was silent. Even the dust motes seemed to pause.

"The Silence Witch comes," Gloria improvised.

Gustavo's eyes widened. "The witch?"

"Yes," Gloria nodded gravely. "She crawls out of the fireplace at night. She has long, cold fingers."

She walked her fingers up his arm. Gustavo shivered.

"And she sews their lips shut with invisible thread."

Gloria mimed sewing her own lips shut, pulling an invisible needle through her skin.

Gustavo gasped. His hands flew up to cover his mouth.

"And then," Gloria continued, her voice dropping lower, "when they want to ask for ice cream... no sound comes out. Just silence."

Gustavo's eyes filled with genuine, primal fear.

On the stairs, Jones suppressed a snort of laughter. He covered his mouth to hide his grin. He realized she was manipulating the kid, lying through her teeth, but god, it was effective.

"I don't want the witch!" Gustavo cried, his voice muffled by his pudgy hands.

"Then use your voice for good," Gloria said sternly. "Before she takes it."

She pointed a manicured finger at Jones.

"Apologize to your brother. Loudly. So the Witch knows you're using your voice."

Gustavo scrambled off the stool. He ran over to the bottom of the stairs.

He looked up at Jones.

"Sorry, Jones!" he yelled. He screamed it. "I'm sorry! Don't let her take my mouth!"

Jones looked uncomfortable. He shifted his weight. "It's fine, whatever."

"It is not fine," Gloria corrected him from across the room.

She walked over to them.

"You deserve respect," she told Jones. She looked him in the eye. "Don't accept 'whatever'."

Jones felt a strange lump in his throat. No one had ever said that to him. Not his dad. Definitely not Gloria.

Gustavo ran back to Gloria and hugged her leg, burying his face in her skirt for protection.

"Did she go away?" Gustavo mumbled into the fabric.

Gloria patted his head absently. "For now."

She looked at Jones.

Jones turned away quickly, hiding his expression. "I'm going to my room."

He bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Gloria watched him go. One step forward.

Dinner was served at seven sharp.

The dining room was cavernous, lit by a crystal chandelier that cost more than Gloria's life insurance policy. The table could seat twenty.

Gloria sat at one end.

Gustavo sat to her right. He was eating his peas with suspicious enthusiasm, occasionally glancing at the fireplace to make sure the Witch wasn't coming.

Jones's chair was empty.

Gloria frowned. "Mrs. Higgins?"

The nanny stepped out of the shadows. "Yes, Madam?"

"Where is Jones?"

"Master Jones is in his room. He said he is not hungry," Higgins said.

Gloria knew he was hungry. He was a teenager. They were always hungry.

She stood up. "Gustavo, come with me."

Gustavo dropped his fork. "Is it the Witch?"

"No. We are going on a rescue mission," Gloria said.

They marched upstairs. Gloria stopped in front of Jones's door. It was plastered with "Keep Out" signs.

She knocked.

No answer.

She opened the door.

The room was dark, illuminated only by the flicker of a large monitor. Jones was sitting in a gaming chair, headphones on, blasting away at virtual enemies.

He saw them in his peripheral vision and pulled the headset down around his neck.

"What?" he snapped. "I said I'm not hungry."

Gloria pushed Gustavo forward gently.

"We are going to have a family dinner. You are family," she said.

Jones scowled. "I'm busy."

Gloria ignored him. "Gustavo, ask your brother to come."

Gustavo remembered the Witch. He remembered the invisible thread.

"Please come, Jones," Gustavo said dutifully.

Jones hesitated. He looked at the paused game.

Gloria decided to push it. She wanted to bridge the gap.

"And give him a hug," she added.

Jones recoiled as if she had slapped him. "No way."

"Hug!" Gustavo yelled. He was an agent of chaos. He launched himself at Jones.

Gustavo wrapped his sticky arms around Jones's waist.

Jones flinched violently.

His body went rigid. His hands hovered in the air, trembling. He looked terrified.

Gloria saw the flinch. It wasn't just annoyance. It was a trauma response.

A cold realization washed over her. The old Gloria hadn't just ignored him. She must have hit him. Or allowed him to be hit. Or made physical contact something to be feared.

Guilt, sharp and acrid, flooded her chest.

She had pushed too hard.

"Okay, that's enough," she said quickly.

She reached out and pulled Gustavo off gently. "Release the hostage."

Gustavo let go.

Jones took a step back, breathing hard. He adjusted his shirt, trying to regain his composure.

"Just dinner, Jones," Gloria said, softening her voice to a whisper. "No hugs required. I promise."

Jones looked at her. He saw a glimmer of genuine regret in her eyes. It confused him.

He nodded slowly. "Fine. I'll come down."