Chapter 4 - A Kitchen of Torment
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The kitchen was a massive expanse of cold white marble and stainless steel—a showpiece meant for wealthy entertaining, not for comfort. I stood at the center island, my hands shaking so violently that I could barely grip the handle of the heavy chef’s knife.
I began to chop onions, the sharp, pungent aroma rising to mix with the tears that were already streaming down my bruised face. My eyes burned fiercely, but I didn't dare stop to wipe them. Every slice of the blade against the wooden cutting board felt like a countdown to something worse.
From the living room, I could hear the muted sounds of a television sitcom, punctuated by Carter and Eleanor’s occasional, relaxed laughter. They were acting as if absolutely nothing had happened. As if Carter hadn't just split my lip open and shoved me into a wall.
I moved to the stove, turning on the gas burner. I stirred a heavy pot of black beans with a trembling hand, the wooden spoon knocking awkwardly against the metal sides. In the skillet next to it, I dropped cuts of seasoned meat into the hot oil.
The grease popped aggressively, snapping and burning against my bare knuckles. I flinched, but I didn't pull away. The physical sting on my skin was absolutely nothing compared to the agony building inside my body.
My abdomen kept tightening, seizing up until it felt as hard as a solid stone. The cramps were coming in waves now, radiating from my lower back and wrapping around my stomach like an iron vice. I had to grip the edge of the granite counter just to keep myself upright, breathing heavily through my teeth.
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"Hurry up!" Carter’s voice echoed from the other room, impatient and remarkably cruel.
I blinked away the blurry tears, forcing myself to push through the blinding pain. I was surviving on pure maternal instinct, desperate to keep my unborn child safe.
