“Look at her,” Helen sneered, a cruel, tight smile playing on her lips. She stirred her black coffee, the spoon clinking against the porcelain like a judge’s gavel. “She genuinely believes that carrying a baby makes her untouchable. So slow. So clumsy. Trent, sweetheart, you are entirely too soft on her. She needs discipline.”
“I know, Mom. I’m handling it,” Trent replied, stepping up close behind me. His breath was hot against my neck. “Did you hear her? Move faster. Eggs, bacon, and pancakes. And if you burn them like you did last week, you’ll be eating them off the floor.”
I reached for the refrigerator handle, but as I opened it, a brutal wave of dizziness hit me. The cold air rushed out, mixing with my sudden vertigo. The room spun, tilting violently on its axis. My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the frozen, hard tile of the kitchen floor.
“Oh, how dramatic,” Richard grunted from his stool, not even shifting his weight to check on me. “Get up, girl. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
Trent didn’t offer a hand. Instead, he walked over to the mudroom by the back door and picked up a heavy, polished wooden walking stick—a souvenir from a family trip to the mountains. He slapped it rhythmically against his palm.
“I told you to get up!” he roared.
“Please,” I sobbed, curling into a tight ball on the floor, wrapping both arms defensively around my swollen belly. “The baby… please, Trent.”
“Is that the only thing you care about?” he sneered, raising the thick wood. “You don’t respect me! You don’t respect my family!”
The heavy stick came down. It struck my thigh with a sickening thud. The pain was instantaneous and blinding, tearing a scream from my throat that echoed off the high ceilings. I writhed on the tile, sobbing uncontrollably.
“She deserves it,” Helen laughed, a sharp, crystalline sound that cut through my agony. “Hit her again, Trent. Show her who runs this house.”
“Guys, the chat is going wild,” Nicole chimed in, her eyes glued to her screen. I realized with a fresh wave of horror that she wasn’t just recording; she was live-streaming this nightmare to a private group of their twisted friends. “They’re calling it the ‘Lazy Wife Correction’. This is pure gold.”
Through the tears blurring my vision, I spotted my own phone lying on the rug near the kitchen island, where it had fallen from my pocket. It was three feet away. A chasm. But it was my only lifeline.
“Stop her!” Richard shouted as I lunged forward.
