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My husband slammed my hand onto the burning stove because the steak was “overcooked.” As I collapsed in agony, my mother-in-law stepped over me, laughing, “She needs to learn her place.” My father-in-law just turned up the TV. They thought I was reaching for a bandage. I smiled through the tears and whispered, “enjoy your last few minutes of peace.” then, the siren lights flashed outside…

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doors; he merely raised the television remote, clicking the volume higher on the evening financial report. The booming voice of the anchor drowned out my ragged, desperate gasps for air, masking the soundtrack of my suffering with the mundane drone of stock market fluctuations.

“Get off the floor,” Beatrice ordered, swirling the dark red liquid in her continue reading …

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