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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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testament to the fire I had walked through to reclaim my life.

I stood in the sunlit kitchen of the Mercer Island house. The heavy, oppressive velvet drapes Beatrice had insisted upon had been torn down, replaced by sheer linen that let the morning light flood the space. The air was fresh, carrying the scent of pine and rain from the lake outside. A continue reading …

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