"A shrew like this is a curse," another added, shaking his head. "If you don't teach her a lesson now, she'll walk all over you for life."
Humiliated, Isaac's face turned the color of raw liver. He lunged at me, his fist connecting with my jaw, sending me crashing to the floor.
"Are you insane? Look at the child! You've terrified him!"
"Who gave you the nerve to act like this?"
"I'm going to teach you how to be a proper wife today!"
Isaac Whitney was a mountain of a man—over two hundred pounds of aggression and entitlement. His fists came down hard, relentless. For a moment, I crumbled under the assault, unable to defend myself against the sheer weight of his violence.
The relatives cheered from the sidelines like spectators at a bloodsport.
"Get her, Isaac! Teach her a lesson!"
"Women need a firm hand. If you don't beat them, they don't listen. Look at this mess—all that good food wasted!"
"That's my boy! Don't let her walk all over your mother!"
After a flurry of blows, the alcohol caught up with him. He staggered back, chest heaving, energy spent.