My hand pulsed with every heartbeat.
The skin across my palm had turned an angry red, and swelling had begun around the base of my thumb.
I knew I needed medical attention.
I knew the shock would wear off soon and the pain would become harder to manage.
But I also knew that once I walked away from that patio, Ivan would begin rewriting the scene.
He would call people privately.
He would describe me as unstable.
He would say I had been drinking, even though I had not touched alcohol all afternoon.
He would tell the company executives that the pressure of being his wife had become too much for me.
He would use the broken grill as proof that I was the dangerous one.
That was how he survived every consequence.
He moved faster than the truth.
This time, I was ready to move first.
I reached into the pocket of my apron.
