The heavy fog of the painkillers vanished, burned away by a cold, brilliant, and absolutely unyielding rage.
I gripped Aaron’s hand tighter, my nails digging sharply into his skin. He looked down at me, startled by the sudden strength in my grip.
I didn’t look at him. I locked my eyes directly onto my mother’s fake, tearful face.
“I didn’t faint,” I said.
My voice was barely above a harsh whisper, rasping painfully in my dry throat, but it carried the devastating, undeniable weight of a falling anvil in the quiet room.
My mother’s fake sobs ceased instantly. Her jaw tightened. “Emily, honey, you’re confused from the drugs…”
I turned my head slowly, deliberately, looking up at my husband.
“I didn’t faint, Aaron,” I repeated, my voice steadying, growing colder and sharper with every syllable. “I didn’t have a complication. Dylan found a heavy rubber dodgeball in the garage. I asked him to put it away. He looked me in the eye, and he threw it as hard as he could, directly into my stomach.”
Aaron froze. His entire body went rigidly, terrifyingly still. The sorrow and relief that had softened his features vanished entirely, replaced by a look of absolute, chilling comprehension.
“Mom sat on the couch and told me to stop being dramatic while I screamed in pain,” I continued, turning my gaze to Nicole, who was now backing away toward the door, her face draining of color. “And Nicole… Nicole pulled out her phone. She hit record. She giggled and filmed me bleeding on the floor while I begged for an ambulance.”
