It happened so fast my brain couldn’t process the sequence of events.
There was no yelling. There was no screaming argument to escalate the tension. There was only the sudden, violent blur of movement.
My mother stood up from her chair with terrifying speed. She didn’t walk toward me; she lunged.
CRACK.
A deafening, sickening sound exploded through the pristine dining room. The heavy iron wrench slammed straight into the left side of my face, just below my eye.
My vision went entirely white. A blinding, agonizing explosion of pain ripped through my skull. The force of the blow knocked me completely out of my chair. My body twisted violently in the air, my shoulder hitting the edge of the mahogany table before I slammed onto the hardwood floor with a heavy, bone-rattling thud. Porcelain shattered somewhere above me as my flailing arm caught a plate.
I lay on my back, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. Warm, thick, metallic blood instantly filled my mouth, spilling over my lips and pooling onto the polished wood beneath my cheek. A high-pitched ringing echoed in my ears, drowning out the ambient sounds of the house.
And then, cutting through the ringing, came a sound far more horrifying than the strike itself.
Laughter.
Loud, genuine, uncontrollable laughter.
I managed to peel my right eye open, the left already swelling shut, completely blinded by blood. Through a hazy, red-tinted blur, I saw Chloe doubling over her wine glass, her shoulders shaking with amusement.
“Oh my god, Mom! Her face!” Chloe shrieked, wiping tears of sheer entertainment from her eyes. She looked down at me, her beautiful features twisted into a mask of pure, sadistic cruelty. “At least you’re pretty now, Maya. You needed a little color in your cheeks.”
My mother stood above me, breathing heavily, the iron wrench dangling from her manicured hand. Her chest heaved, but her eyes were cold, dead, and entirely devoid of maternal instinct. She looked at me like I was an insect she had just crushed beneath her heel.
