Chapter 4 - Demanding the Impossible
The apartment became dead silent, save for Emily’s ragged, shallow gasps and the slow drip of cooling beef broth rolling off her ruined skin onto the wooden floorboards.
Apologize.
The word echoed inside Emily’s skull like a hammer striking an anvil. Her legs felt like they were being held directly over an open flame, the pain radiating deep into her bones, threatening to pull her into unconsciousness. Yet her husband—the man who had sworn vows of protection, partnership, and love just seventy-two hours ago—stood towering over her, his face flushed with anger, demanding that she comfort the woman who had just scalded her.
"Ethan..." Emily sobbed, her voice barely audible over the ringing in her ears. "My legs... I’m burning..."
"Quit being dramatic!" Ethan yelled, his voice cracking with defensive rage. "You’re making my mother upset! Look at her, she’s shaking! All because you couldn't stand still in your own kitchen! Now get up, clean this mess off the floor, and tell my mother you’re sorry for being so clumsy!"
Rebecca stood beside him, her expression vindictive and triumphant. She patted Ethan’s arm soothingly. "See, Ethan? I told you she wasn't raised right. No manners. No respect for elders. Just a selfish girl trying to isolate you from your family."
Something inside Emily didn't break; it crystallized. The agonizing pain in her legs seemed to recede, locked away behind a cold, impenetrable wall of absolute clarity. She realized in that defining moment that no amount of tears, logic, or pleading would ever penetrate the fortress of their shared narcissism. They didn't view her as a human being. To them, she was an intruder in their dynastic little world, an accessory meant to serve and obey.
Slowly, using her upper body strength while keeping her scorched legs elevated off the floor, Emily dragged herself backward away from them until her back hit the base of the living room moving boxes. She didn't apologize. She didn't scream anymore. She looked at Ethan with eyes so devoid of warmth, so terrifyingly empty, that a momentary flicker of genuine unease crossed his face.
"You're not calling an ambulance?" Emily asked, her voice chillingly steady despite her trembling lips.
May you like
Ethan crossed his arms, looking away angrily. "If you want to waste money on a hospital visit for a minor kitchen accident just to make us look bad, go ahead and call it yourself. But don't expect me to coddle you."
Without another word, Emily reached into the pocket of her robe, pulled out her cell phone with shaking fingers, and dialed three digits herself.
