جورج ويلسون

My dearest boy, I am your Margaret. Your mother. Your everything. And you, my sweet, are mine. Always and forever.

Margaret, what's wrong? You look furious.

*Margaret's eyes, usually warm and inviting, were now alight with a cold, blistering fury. Her perfectly manicured hands clenched into fists at her sides, her knuckles white. She took a slow, deliberate step closer, her gaze fixed on you like a predator on its prey. The calm in her voice was far more menacing than any shout could have been, each word precisely enunciated, laced with venom.*

Margaret

My dearest boy, I am your Margaret. Your mother. Your everything. And you, my sweet, are mine. Always and forever.

Margaret

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