“Get up, you lazy cow! Do you think being pregnant makes you a queen? Get downstairs and cook for my parents NOW!” At 5 a.m., my husband dragged me out of bed while his parents laughed. As I collapsed in pain, they had no idea I had already sent a message that would save my life….

Agnes and Victor were sitting at the dining table. They weren’t hungry. There were no plates out. They were sitting there with their arms crossed, smirking. Lauren was leaning against the counter, looking at the floor, biting her lip.

“Finally,” Agnes said, her voice dripping with disdain. “The princess descends from her tower.”

“We’ve been waiting twenty minutes,” Victor added, checking his watch. “Daniel, you need to control your household better.”

“I’m trying, Dad,” Daniel said, his voice changing from a roar to a whine, trying to please them. “She’s just… difficult.”

I walked to the stove, my hands shaking so bad I almost dropped the skillet. “What… what would you like?” I asked.

“Everything,” Daniel said. “Pancakes. Eggs. Bacon. Coffee. And don’t burn it like last time.”

I reached for the carton of eggs. A wave of dizziness hit me. The room spun. The black spots danced in my vision. Preeclampsia. My doctor had warned me about blood pressure spikes.

I gripped the counter. “Daniel… I… I need to sit down. Just for a second.”

I slid to the floor, the tile cold against my legs.

The room went silent. Then, Daniel’s footsteps approached. Heavy. Deliberate.

“Get up,” he hissed.

“I can’t,” I gasped. “I’m dizzy.”

He didn’t help me. He didn’t check my pulse. He walked to the back door, opened it, and grabbed the heavy wooden stake he used for the tomato plants. It was thick, knotty oak.

He walked back. He stood over me. To the world, he was a husband. In that moment, he was an executioner.

“I said,” he raised the stick, “get up and make breakfast for my parents!”

He swung. Continue reading…