My Husband Burned My Hand on the Stove

I watched his thumb move. I watched him understand. I watched him look up at the underside of the kitchen island and find the lens.

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened.

“You bitch,” he whispered.

I sat up slowly. My burned hand was throbbing so hard I could feel it in my teeth. I kept it pressed to my chest. I wanted the camera to see it. I wanted them continue reading …