The Thirteenth Day
Language: en
My hand, holding the soup ladle, froze in mid-air. My cheek was already burning, numb from the impact. The sharp crack of the slap hung in the air, paralyzing everyone around the dining table. The fish chowder in the pot was still bubbling on the stove, thick white steam rising and stinging my eyes. My mother-in-law, Martha, stood by the counter, holding a sprig of freshly chopped parsley. Her mouth was open, but she didn’t say a word. I slowly turned my head and looked at my husband, Carter. His hand hadn't completely lowered yet. The fingers of the hand that had just struck me were…