The slap came so fast I didn’t even see her hand move. One second I was standing in the narrow space between our thrift-store dining table and the kitchen counter, one palm pressed against the hard swell of my belly, trying to breathe through the smell of burnt coffee and Sandra’s perfume. The next second, my cheek exploded with heat, my shoulder hit the wall, and the little framed photo of Marcus and me at our courthouse wedding jumped crooked on its nail… Continue reading…
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