Blake walked over looking nervous, though he didn’t come to stand by my side. “Mackenzie, please don’t do this here in front of everyone,” he pleaded.
“I am not doing anything other than setting a limit,” I told him.
That was when Mrs. Gable, in full view of the neighbors and the children, hurled the ceramic plate directly at my face. The sharp edge sliced into my forehead and blood began to drip onto the white frosting of the cake.
There was a collective gasp followed by a heavy silence, but the physical pain wasn’t the worst part of that moment. The worst part was watching my husband rush to comfort his mother while I stood there bleeding and realizing I was completely alone.
The first thing Blake did after his mother attacked me wasn’t checking my wound or taking me to a clinic. He snatched my phone out of my hand.
He claimed I was too hysterical to have it and said we shouldn’t make a scene because his mother had a heart condition. He looked at me as if the blood running down my face was an inconvenience compared to his mother’s elevated blood pressure.