I was chopping carrots, focused on making everything perfect, when Dawn burst into the kitchen like a hurricane.

“What are you doing?” she asked with that sharp voice I knew too well.

“Soup for dinner,” I replied softly without turning around. “Robert’s favorite recipe.”

She moved closer, looked into the pot, and her face twisted in disgust.

“This looks like pig slop. How much salt did you put in? Are you trying to poison us?”

Her words were daggers. I tried to explain, but she wouldn’t listen. She grabbed the ladle from the pot and, before I could react, slammed it against my head.

The blow left me stunned. I felt the heat of the metal, the boiling liquid running down my hair, the sharp pain in my temple.