My Husband Burned My Hand on the Stove

against my chest. The skin was already red and blistering. Tears blurred the polished cabinets, the chandelier, the expensive kitchen I had been expected to clean after every dinner Patricia hosted for people she despised.

“Say it,” Daniel ordered.

“It was…” My voice broke.

Patricia sipped her wine. “Pathetic.”

I lowered my head, letting my hair curtain continue reading …