David’s face brightened like I’d just handed him a trophy. He wiped the tears off my cheeks with a smile. “That’s my girl. I knew you’d understand. Alright, everyone, let’s go back to eating.”
But Cindy wasn’t finished.
“What about Ryan’s medical expenses?” she piped up, her voice sharp.
David shot her a warning glare. “That’s enough.”
...
Later that night, upstairs, I sat on the bed, my fists clenched so tightly that my nails dug into my palms.
But I didn’t feel the pain. All I felt was fear—deep, bone-chilling fear. My hands wouldn’t stop trembling, and tears streamed down my face in an endless, silent flow.
This family was terrifying. I had to leave. I had to get out of here and end this marriage.
David came upstairs a little later, holding a bowl of chicken soup.
“Here, babe,” he said with a smile that sent shivers down my spine. “You didn’t eat much earlier. Drink this, it’ll warm your stomach.”
I took the bowl, forcing a small, shaky smile.
“Thanks, David,” I said, the word catching in my throat.
“David, my stomach doesn’t feel right,” I added after a pause, keeping my voice soft and hesitant. “Can we go back tomorrow? I’m worried—I want to get checked at the hospital.”