Chapter 4 - The Mother-in-Law's Visit
The next morning brought a fresh wave of psychological torture,
a test I had been dreading since I opened my eyes.
The door swung open,
and Vivian walked in,
wearing a pristine white blouse,
not a single drop of oil on her designer fabric.
She carried a small designer handbag,
her heels clicking sharply against the linoleum floor.
She stood at the foot of my bed,
her eyes scanning my bandages,
her lips curled into a faint,
disgusted sneer.
"Look at this mess,"
she whispered,
glancing back to make sure the door was firmly shut.
"You are costing my son a fortune in medical bills,
and for what?
Because you can't handle a simple pot of soup."
I dug my fingernails into my palms,
hiding my hands under the blanket,
feeling the solid weight of the secret phone beneath my pillow.
Before she walked in,
I had pressed record,
praying the microphone was sensitive enough to catch her venom.
"I'm sorry, Vivian,"
I said weakly,
staring at the ceiling,
playing the broken victim she wanted to see.
"I'll try to heal faster."
Vivian scoffed,
a harsh,
grating sound that echoed in the sterile room.
"You always make everything about you,"
she hissed,
pacing slowly to the side of my bed.
"Daniel is exhausted,
he had to take time off work to deal with your little stunt."
"It wasn't a stunt,"
I whispered,
letting a tear fall,
baiting the trap,
hoping her arrogance would override her caution.
"It hurts so much."
She leaned over me,
close enough that I could smell the same heavy,
floral perfume she wore when she poured the boiling oil down my spine.
"It was supposed to hurt,"
she whispered,
her eyes flashing with malicious delight,
her voice a venomous hiss in my ear.
"Maybe next time,
you will learn your place in my son's house.
You are nothing but a guest,
an unwanted guest,
and I can remove you whenever I please."
My breath hitched,
the sheer evil of her words paralyzing me for a second.
She was admitting it,
proud of it,
basking in her absolute power over my broken body.
"You did it on purpose,"
I breathed out,
making sure my voice was loud enough for the phone to pick up.
Vivian stood up straight,
smoothing her perfectly ironed slacks.
"Who would believe you?"
she laughed coldly,
picking up her handbag.
"Daniel told the doctors you are mentally unstable.
He told his friends you are clumsy.
I am a respected member of the country club,
and you are just a hysterical,
anxious little girl who can't hold a pot."
She walked toward the door,
pausing with her hand on the handle.
"Dinner better be on time when you get home,"
she said over her shoulder.
"Or worse things can happen in a kitchen."
The door clicked shut,
leaving me alone in the suffocating silence.
I waited ten long seconds,
my heart hammering violently,
before I slid my good hand under the pillow.
I pulled out the cracked phone,
my fingers trembling as I stopped the recording.
I pressed play,
holding the speaker to my ear.
Vivian’s voice filled the air,
clear,
cruel,
and undeniable.
It was supposed to hurt.
I closed my eyes,
a feral,
dangerous smile spreading across my face despite the pain.
She thought she was untouchable,
May you like
she thought she had broken me.
But she had just handed me the match I needed to burn their entire world to the ground.
