My Husband Burned My Hand on the Stove

Running was what he expected. Running was what his lawyers were ready for. Patricia had a folder somewhere in her office, I was certain, with my name on it. Photos. Statements. A whole curated case for why I was unstable, unfaithful, unfit. She had built it the way she built everything else: methodically, while smiling at me across a holiday table.continue reading …