Chapter 1
My mother-in-law did not believe I was sick.
So she grabbed my arm with both hands and dragged me straight off the bed.
I had been burning with a 103-degree fever for three days.
My sheets were damp.
My lips were cracked.
Every breath made my back ache like someone had pressed hot stones against my kidneys.
That morning, the doctor had looked at my urine test, then at my pale face, and said, “Olivia, this is a severe kidney infection. You need antibiotics immediately. Rest, fluids, and if your fever gets worse, go to the hospital.”
James had driven me home with one hand on the wheel and the other holding mine.
“I’ll go get the medicine,” he said, helping me into bed. “Do not move.”
I tried to smile.
“I wasn’t planning to run a marathon.”
He kissed my forehead, then froze.
“You’re burning up.”
“I know.”
“I’ll be fast.”
He tucked the blanket around me like I was made of glass.
Then he left for the pharmacy.
For twenty minutes, the house was quiet.
Rain tapped softly against the bedroom windows.
Downstairs, I could hear the distant hum of the refrigerator and nothing else.
I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through the pain.
Then the bedroom door slammed open.
My eyes flew open.
Dorothy stood in the doorway.
James’s mother.
Perfect hair.
Pearl earrings.
Dark green dress.
A face full of disgust.
“Enough of this laziness,” she said.
I blinked, trying to focus.
“Dorothy?”
She marched toward the bed and ripped the blanket off me.
Cold air struck my burning skin.
I gasped.
“Please,” I whispered. “I’m really sick.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Sick, my foot.”
The room tilted around her.
I tried to push myself up on one elbow, but pain shot through my back so sharply I nearly cried out.
“James told you,” I said. “The doctor said I have a kidney infection.”
Dorothy rolled her eyes.
“The doctor also told you to drink water and lie around while I prepare dinner for sixteen people alone?”
I stared at her.
“Family dinner?”
“Do not pretend you forgot.”
“I didn’t forget. James said we were canceling.”
Her mouth tightened.
“James says many foolish things when you whine.”
The fever made everything feel far away.
Her voice.
The room.
My own body.
“I can’t cook today,” I whispered. “I can barely stand.”
Dorothy leaned over me.
“You can stand when you want sympathy. You can stand when my son is watching. You can stand now.”
Then she grabbed my left wrist.
Hard.
Her fingers dug into my skin.
“Dorothy, stop.”
“GET UP!”
She pulled.
I cried out.
My body slid across the mattress.
The room spun.
My feet tangled in the sheet.
“Please,” I gasped.
She pulled again with all her strength.
I slipped off the edge of the bed and hit the hardwood floor.
Pain exploded through my shoulder.
My head bumped the side of the nightstand.
For a moment, I could not breathe.
Dorothy stood over me.
“Now look what you did.”
I blinked up at her, my vision swimming.
“What I did?”
“Pretending to faint will not work on me.”
I tried to speak, but my throat was too dry.
My wrist throbbed.
My shoulder screamed.
My whole body felt like it was burning and freezing at once.
Then her hand lifted.
Not to help me.
To strike me.
I saw it through the blur.
Her palm raised above me.
Her face twisted with anger.
Then the front door slammed open downstairs.
“OLIVIA?”
James’s voice tore through the house.
Dorothy froze.
Footsteps thundered down the hallway.
James appeared in the bedroom doorway with a pharmacy bag in one hand.
He saw me on the floor.
He saw his mother standing over me.
He saw her raised hand.
The bag slipped from his fingers.
Pill bottles scattered across the floor.
“What did you do?” he whispered.
His face turned white.
Dorothy lowered her hand quickly.
“James, she is being dramatic.”
He moved so fast I barely saw him.
He rushed forward and shoved Dorothy away from me.
Not a small push.
Not polite.
He shoved her so hard she stumbled backward into the dresser.
Perfume bottles rattled.
A framed photo fell flat.
“Don’t you EVER touch her again,” he growled.
Dorothy stared at him, stunned.
James dropped to his knees beside me.
His hands trembled as he touched my face.
“Olivia. Liv. Look at me.”
I tried.
His face blurred.
“I’m cold,” I whispered.
His eyes filled with terror.
“You’re burning up.”
Tears fell from his eyes onto my cheeks.
He looked down at my wrist.
Where Dorothy had grabbed me, the skin was already turning purple and black.
His jaw tightened.
Then his gaze moved to my shoulder.
I winced when he touched near it.
“Mom,” he said, his voice low and deadly, “what did you do to my wife?”
Dorothy straightened, one hand gripping the dresser.
“I was trying to get her out of bed. She has embarrassed this family long enough.”
James looked at her like he had never seen her before.
“She has a severe kidney infection.”
“She has an excuse.”
“She has a fever of 103.”
“She has you wrapped around her finger.”
I tried to say his name, but the room tilted hard.
My hearing faded.
James’s voice grew distant.
“Call 911,” he shouted.
Dorothy scoffed.
“For this performance?”
James turned on her.
“If you do not call them, I will call the police after I call the ambulance.”
Dorothy’s face changed.
For the first time, fear slipped through her anger.
I tried to hold onto James’s sleeve.
My fingers barely moved.
“Don’t leave me,” I whispered.
He pressed his forehead to mine.
“I’m here. I’m not leaving.”
The last thing I saw before the darkness pulled me under was Dorothy staring at the bruise on my arm.
Not with regret.
With rage.
May you like
Because the mark proved what she had done.
And James had finally seen it.
